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EacI) nij^ht Hero lighted her torch ; each night Leander swam
across the narrow sea.
l/'aiV 117-
CHILDREN
OF
THE DAWN
OLDTALESOFCREECE
ELSIE-FINNJMPREBUCKLEY
INTRODUCTION EY; ' ; lULUSTRATIONSBY
ARTHUR SIDGWiCK ^FRANKCPAPE
-T^^^^.-^v - '^ Is^-^nvb-^
'"T^HE aim of this volume is to present, in a form
1^ suitable for young readers, a small selection from
the almost inexhaustible treasure-house of the ancient
Greek tales, which abound (it is needless to say) in all
Greek poetry, and are constantly referred to by the prose-
writers. These stories are found, whether narrated at
length, or sometimes only mentioned in a cursory and
tantalising reference, from the earhest poets. Homer and
Hesiod, through the lyric age, and the Attic renaissance
of the fifth century, when they form the material of
the tragic drama, down to the second .century p.c, when
Apollodorus, the Athenian, grc^mmariaa,. made a prose
collection of them, which is iiA-aluq-blg. - They reappear
at Rome in the Augustan age (and later), in the poems
of Vergil, Ovid, and StitixiSTH^^yHc^wla.rjy in Ovid's
" Metamorphoses." Many more are supplied by Greek or
Roman travellers, scholars, geographers, or historians,
of the first three centuries of our era, such as Strabo,
Pausanias, Athenaeus, Apuleius and ^Elian. The tales are
various — stories of love, adventure, heroism, skill, en-
durance, achievement or defeat. The gods take active part,
vii
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
CIRCUlAriON DtPARTMENT
MATHAN STRAUS BRANCH 34S EAST 32ni STREET
Introduction
often in conflict witli each other. The heroes or victims
are men and women ; and behind all, inscrutable and in-
exorable, sits the dark figure of Fate. The Greeks had
a rare genius for story-telling of all sorts. Whether the
tales were of native growth, or imported from the East
or elsewhere — and both sources are doubtless represented
— once they had passed through the Greek hands, the
Greek spirit, " finely touched to fine issues," marked
them for its own with the beauty, vivacity, dramatic
interest, and imaginative outline and detail, which were
never absent from the best Greek work, least of all during
the centuries that lie between Homer and Plato.
The eleven tales here presented from this vast store
are (as will be seen) very various both in date, character,
and detail ; and they seem well chosen for their purpose.
The writer of these English versions of ancient stories
has clearly aimed at a terse simplicity of style, while giving
full details, with occasional descriptive passages where
required to make the scene more vivid ; and, for the same
end, she has rightly made free use of dialogue or soliloquy
wherever .th.e. stpry. G^ould..thijs be more pointedly or
dramaticg,Hy;*tj3*ig['' *:* VV .[':'.•'
The first story; caH'cd :":*The Riddle of the Sphinx,"
gives us in briei'^thoAvlTOle Theban tale, from King Laius
and the magical' Jl'U'iLdtn^'cSf' tile city, to the incomparable
scene from Sophdclei'TasV play, describing the " Passing
of (Edipus," It even includes the heroic action of Antigone,
in burying with due rites her dead brother, in spite of the
tyrant's threats, and at the cost of her own life. No tale
was more often treated in ancient poetry than this tragedy
of Thebes. Homer and Hesiod both refer to it, /Eschylus
viii
Introduction
wrote a wliole trilogy, and Sophocles three separate
dramas, on this theme. Euripides dealt with it in his
" Phoenissae," which survives, and in his " CEdipus and
Antigone," of which a few fragments remain. And
several other poets whose works are lost are known by
the titles of their plays to have dealt with the same subject.
One other tale in this selection rests in large measure
on the Attic drama — namely, the story of Alcestis,
the fourth in this series. As far as we know, Euripides
alone of the ancients treated this theme, in his beautiful
and interesting play " Alcestis," which is here closely
followed by our author. The past history of Admetus,
the king, which Euripides briefly summarises in the
prologue, is here dramatized, and adds much interest
to the story, including as it does the Argonauts' visit
to Pelias, and the romantic imaginary scene of the
king's first meeting with Alcestis.
The two charming love-stories which come second and
third in this series, though unquestionably Greek in origin,
reach us from Roman sources, and bear clear evidence
in their form and spirit of belonging to a later age. The
character of the love romance in " Hero and Leander "
and the transparent allegory of " Eros and Psyche "
(Love and the Soul), leave little doubt on this point.
The former tale is ascribed to a late Greek epic poet,
Musaeus, of whom nothing else is known ; and the latter
we owe to Apuleius, a Roman philosopher and man of
letters in the second century a.d.
The fifth and tenth stories (in both of which Atalanta
appears) rest in their present shape on the authority of
Apollodorus ; but the incidents of the Calydonian boar-
ix
Introduction
hunt, and the race for the hand of the princess, won by
the suitor's clever trick of the golden apples, are found
as local traditions connected with two different parts of
Greece, Arcadia and Boeotia, and may be in their earliest
form of great antiquity.
The two fanciful stories of Echo and Narcissus, and
Alpheus and Arethusa, which form the sixth and ninth
in this series, are among the prettiest of Nature myths,
and are characteristic Greek inventions. The chase of
Arethusa under the sea by the river-god Alpheus was
to a Greek the most natural of fancies, for to him all
water was protected by, or identified with, some god,
nymph, or spirit ; and the fa-ncy was especially easy to a
dweller in the limestone district of Arcadia, where streams
may run underground for long distances, and reappear
as full-grown rivers from a cavern at the foot of the hills.
The tale of Echo in its present form comes only from
Latin poetry (Ovid) ; but the fancy that Echo was a
spirit or nymph, which is the heart of the story, may well
be of unknown antiquity, especially among the most
imaginative of races, living in a land of rocky hills, the
native home of echoes.
Of the remaining stories ( Pygmalion, Orpheus
and CEnone), the briefest comment will suffice. The
beautiful and pathetic tale of Orpheus and Eurydice,
which is best known to us from the incomparable version
of it at the close of Vergil's fourth " Georgic," we know
on good evidence to have been extant at least as early as
yEschylus (fifth century B.C.), and possibly much earlier.
The touching story of (Enone is post-Homeric, and is
known to us only from Ovid and Apollodorus. It is
X
Introduction
familiar to all Englishmen from the two beautiful poems
of Tennyson, which are respectively among the earliest
and latest of his works. The strange yet striking tale
of Pygmalion also comes to us from Apollodorus ; and
though it may be much older, it is perhaps not likely to
belong to an earlier time than the fourth century B.C.,
a date which seems to be suggested both by the char-
acter of the story, and the development of the art of
sculpture implied in it.
It only remains to commend these beautiful old stories,
in their English dress, to the favour of those for whom
they are intended.
A. SIDGWICK.
Oxford,
Seplemher c)^ 1908.
^1
CONTENTS
The Kiddle of the Sphinx
Eros and Psyche -
Hero and Leander
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
The Curse of Echo
The Sculptor and the Image
The Divine Musician
The Flight of Arethusa
The Winning of Atalanta
Paris and CEnone
•
I
36
• lOI
124
- 188
216
226
■ 237
264
272
311
^11
LIST- OF- ILLUSTRATIONS
rROxrisriECE — Each night Hero hghtcd her torch ; each
night Leander swam across the narrow sea
Title-Page ---...
Heading to Introduction - - - . .
Heading to Contents •■ - - - .
Heading to List of Illustrations ....
She put out her cruel claws and lashed her tail from side to
side like an angry lion waiting for his prey
With firm, unfaltering steps he led the way once more, and
Theseus followed after -----
On the bed, wrapped in slumber, lay the youngest and
fairofit of the Immortals - - . .
Faster and faster he went, and up and down, and round and
round - - . . ...
She unloosed the rope, and pushed out into the stream
" Help, help ! I drown in this foul stream !"
She lowered her eyes in confusion, and her limbs trembled
beneath her, so that she leant back against the pillar
for support - - - . . .
From the shadow of the trees came the strange herdsman,
playing on his lyre - - . . .
XV
Vll
xiii
XV
17
33
59
67
81
93
137
List of Illustrations
fAGB
Admctus heeded neither shepherd nor shrine. . . . Without
a thought he passed the altar by - - - 15^
And the children crept silently to her - - - i-ji
She answered him never a word, but held out both her
hands and raised him from his knees - - 185
As he spoke, he took her by the hand, and set her in a
place of honour between his father and himself - 201
As the brute bore down, INIeleager buried the spear deep in
his shoulder ---... 207
For the last time he leaned forward - - - 223
On the breath of the night wind Aphrodite came in, and she
kissed the statue on the lips - . . . 233
From the shadow of the cave crept a wood-nymph, and lay
upon the grass ------ 243
" Orpheus," she cried in her despair, " thy hand !" - - 255
On and on she fled, with the swiftness and strength of
despair - - - - - -269
" Oh, my father !" she cried - . . . 279
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the gleam of her
tunic ------- 303
Out of the stream beside him there rose a wondrous form of
a maiden clad all in misty white - - - 317
Menelaus was bearing him in triumph towards the Achaean
host - - - - - - - 339
Cast herself upon the body of Paris, and put her arms
about his neck ------ 3,13
Initials, Tail-pieces, etc.
XVI
PROPERTY OF THE
CITY OF i\IEW YORK
Children of the Dawn
The Riddle of the Sphinx
AR away towards the east and the
regions of the rising sun hes the
fair land of Hellas, a land famous
from of old for mighty deeds of
mighty men, and famous to this
day among the nations of the
earth ; for though the mighty men,
her heroes, have long since passed
away, their names live on for ever
in the pages of her grand old
poets, who sing of their deeds in
strains which still kindle the hearts of men, and stir them
up to be heroes too, and fight life's battle bravely.
Long ago, in the city of Thebes, there ruled a king
named Laius and his queen locasta. They were children
of the gods, and Thebes itself, men said, had been built
by hands more than mortal ; for Apollo had led Cadmus
the Phoenician, the son of Zeus, to the sacred spot where
he was to raise the citadel of Thebes, and Pallas Athene
A
children of the Dawn
had helped him to s'ay the monstrous dragon that guarded
the sacred spring of Ares. The teeth of the dragon, Cad-
mus took and planted in the plain of Thebes, and from
this seed there sprang up a great host of armed men, who
would have slain him ; but he took a stone and cast it in
their midst, whereupon the serpent-men turned their arms
one against another, fighting up and down the plain till
only five were left. With the help of these five, Cadmus
built the citadel of Thebes, and round it made a wall so
wide that a dozen men and more might walk upon it, and
so huge were the stones and so strong was the masonry that
parts of it are standing to this day. As for the city itself,
the tale goes that Amphion, the mightiest of all musicians,
came with his lyre, and so sweetly did he play that the
hearts of the very stones were stirred within them, so that
of their own free-will they fell into their places, and the
town of Thebes rose up beneath the shadow of the citadel.
For many a long day did Laius and locasta rule over
the people of Thebes, and all that time they had no
children ; for a dreadful curse lay on the head of Laius
that, if ever he had a son, by that son's hand he should
die. At last a boy was born to them, and Laius, re-
membering the curse, swore that the child should never
grow to manhood, and he bade locasta slay him forth-
with. But she, being his mother, was filled with a great
love and pity for the helpless child. When it nestled in ^
her arms and clung to her breast she could not find it in
her heart to slay it, and she wept over it many a bitter
salt tear, and pressed it closer to her bosom. As the tiny
fingers closed round hers, and the soft head pressed against
her, she murmured,
2
The Riddle of the Sphinx
" Surely, so little a thing can do no harm ? Sweet babe
lliey say that I must kill thee, but they know not a
mother's love. Rather than that, I will put thee away
out of my sight, and never see thee more, though the
gods know I had sooner die than lose thee, my little one,
my own bweet babe."
So she called a trusty house-slave, who knew the king's
decree, and placing the child in his arms, she said,
" Go, take it away, and hide it in the hills. Perchance
the gods will have pity on it, and put it in the heart of
some shepherd, who feeds his flocks on distant pastures,
to take the child home to his cot and rear it. Farewell,
my pretty babe. The green grass must be thy cradle,
and the mountain breezes must lull thee to sleep. May
the gods in their mercy bless thy childhood's hours, and
make thy name famous among men ; for thou art a king's
son, and a child of the Immortals, and the Immortals
forget not those that are born of their blood."
So the man took the child from locasta ; but, because
he feared the king's decree, he pierced its ankles and
bound them together, for he thought,
" Surely, even if some shepherd wandering on the
mountain-side should lig-lit upon the child, he will never
rear one so maimed ; and if the king should ask, I will
say that he is dead."
But because the child wept for the pain in its ankles,
he took it home first to his wife to be fed and comforted,
and when she gave it back into his arms, it smiled up into
his face. Then all the hardness died out of his heart, for
the gods had shed about it a grace to kindle love in the
coldest breast.
3
children of the Dawn
Now Cithaeron lies midway between Thebes and Corinth,
and in winter-time the snow hes deep upon the summit,
and the wild winds shriek through the rocks and clefts,
and the pine trees pitch and bend beneath the fury of the
blast, so that men called it the home of the Furies, the
Awful Goddesses, who track out sin and murder. And
there, too, in the streams and caverns, dwell the naiads
and the nymphs, wild spirits of the rocks and waters ; and
if any mortal trespass on their haunts, they drive him to
madness in their echoing grottoes and gloomy caves.
Yet, for all that, though men called it dark Cithaeron,
the grass about its feet grew fine and green, so that the
shepherds came from all the neighbouring towns to pasture
their flocks on its well-watered slopes. Here it was that
Laius's herdsman fell in with a herdsman of Polybus, king
of Corinth, and, seeing that he was a kindly man, and likely
to have compassion on the child, he gave it him to rear.
Now, it had not pleased the gods to grant any children
to Polybus, king of Corinth, and Merope, his wife, though
they wreathed their altars with garlands and burnt sweet
savour of incense ; and at last all hope died out of their
hearts, and they said,
" The gods are angry, and will destroy our race, and
the kingdom shall pass into the hands of a stranger."
But one day it chanced that the queen saw in the arms
of one of her women a child she had not seen before, and
she questioned her, and asked if it were hers. And the
woman confessed that her husband, the king's herdsman,
had found it on dim Cithaeron, and had taken pity on it,
and brought it home. Then the queen looked at the
child, and seeing that it was passing fair, she said,
4
The Riddle of the Sphinx
*'■ Surely this is no comniuu babe, but a child of the
Immortals. His hair is golden as the summer corn, and
his eyes hke the stars in heaven. What if the go.ds have
sent him to comfort our old age, and rule the kingdom
when we are dead ? I will rear him in the palace as my
o\vn eon, and he shall be a prince in the land of Corinth."
So the child lived in the palace, and became a son to
Polybus and Merope, and heir to the kingdom. For want
of a name they called h'm ffidipus, because his ankles,
when they found him, were all swollen by the pin that
the herdsman had put through them. As he grew up,
he found favour in all men's eyes, for he was tall and
comely and cunning withal.
" The gods are gracious," men said, " to grant the king
such a son, and the people of Corinth so mighty a prince,
to rule over them in days to come."
For as yet they knew not that he was a foundling, and
no true heir to the throne.
Now, while the child was still young, he played about
the courts of the palace, and in running and leaping and
in feats of strength and hardihood of heart there was none
to beat him among his playmates, or even to stand up
against him, save one. But so well matched were these
two, that the other children would gather round them
in a ring to watch them box and wrestle, and the victor
they would carry on their shoulders round the echoing
galleries with shouting and clapping of hands ; and some-
times it was CEdipus, and sometimes the other lad. But
at length there came a time when again and again (Edipus
was proved the stronger, and again and again the other
slunk home beaten, like a cur that has been whipped :
5
children of the Dawn
and he brooded over his defeat, and nourished hatred in
his heart against QEdipus, and vowed that one day he
would have his revenge by fair means or by fouL
But when Merope the queen saw Qidipus growing tall
and fair, and surpassing all his comrades in strength, she
took him up one day on to the citadel, and showed him
all the lovely land of Hellas lying at his feet. Below
them spread the shining city, with its colonnades and
fountains and stately temples of the gods, like some jewel
in the golden sands, and far away to the westward
stretched the blue Corinthian Gulf, till the mountains of
iEtolia seemed to join hands with their sisters in Pelopon-
nese. And she showed him the hills of Arcadia, the land
of song and shepherds, where Pan plays his pipe beneath
the oak-t;ees, and nymphs and satyrs dance all the day
long. Away to the bleak north-west stood out the snowy
peaks of Mount Parnassus and Helicon, the home of the
Muses, who fill men's minds with wisdom and their hearts
with the love of all things beautiful. Here the first nar-
cissus blooms, and the olive and the myrtle and rosy
almond-blossom gently kiss the laughing rivulets and the
shining, dancing cascades. For Helicon was a fair and
gentle youth whom his cruel brother Cithaeron slew in
his mad jealousy. Whereupon the gods changed them
both into mountains, and Helicon is mild and fair to this
day, and the home of all good things ; but Cithaeron is
bleak and barren, because his hard heart had no pity,
and the Furies haunt it unceasingly. Then Merope turned
him to the eastward and the land of the Dawning Day,
and showed him the purple peaks of ^Egina and the
gleaming Attic shore. And she said to him,
6
The Riddle of the Sphinx
" OEdipus, my son, seest thou how Corinth hes midway
'tvvixt north and south and east and west, a hnk to join
the lands together and a barrier to separate the seas ?"
And (Edipus answered,
" Of a truth, mother, he who rules in Corinth hath need
of a lion's heart, for he must stand ever sword in hand
and guard the passage from north to south."
" Courage is a mighty thing, my son, but wisdom is
mightier. The sword layeth low, but wisdom buildeth
up. Seest thou the harbours on either side, facing east
and west, and the masts of the ships, like a forest in
winter, and the traffic of sailors and merchants on the
shore ? From all lands they come and bring their wares
and merchandise, and men of every nation meet together.
Think not, my son, that a lion's heart and a fool's head
therewith can ever be a match for the wisdom of Egypt
or the cunning of Phoenicia."
Then CEdipus understood, and said,
" Till now I have wrestled and boxed and run races
*vith my fellows on the sands the livelong day, and none
can beat me. Henceforth I will sit in the market-place
and discourse with foreigners and learned men, so that,
when I come to rule in my father's place, I may be the
wisest in all the land."
And Merope was pleased at his answer, but in her
heart she was sad that his simple childish days were past ;
and she prayed that if the gods granted him wisdom they
would keep his heart pure and free from all uncleanness.
So (Edipus sat in th'3 market-place and talked with
merchants and travellers, and he went down to the ships
in the harbour and learned many strange things of strange
Children of the Dawn
lands — the wisdom of the Egyptians, who were the wisest
of all men in the south, and the cunning of the Phoenicians,
who were the greatest merchants and sailors in all the
world. But in the evening, when the sun was low in the
west, and the hills all turned to amethyst and sapphire,
and the snow-mountains blushed ruby red beneath his
parting kiss, then along the smooth, gold sands of the
Isthmus, by the side of the sounding sea, he would box
and wrestle and run, till all the ways were darkened and
the stars stood out in the sky. For he was a true son of
Hellas, and knew that nine times out of every ten a slack
body and a slack mind go together.
So he grew up in his beauty, a very god for wisdom and
might, and there was no question he could not answer nor
riddle he could not solve, so that all the land looked up
to him, and the king and queen loved him as their own son.
Now one day there was a great banquet in the palace,
to which all the noblest of the land were bidden, and the
minstrels played and the tumblers danced and the wine
flowed freely round the board, so that men's hearts were
opened, and they talked of great deeds and heroes, and
boasted what they themselves could do. And CEdipus
boasted as loud as any, and challenged one and all to
meet him in fair hght. But the youth who had grown up
with him in rivalry, and nourished jealousy and hatred in
his heart, taunted him to his face, and said,
" Base born that thou art, and son of slave, thinkest
thou that free men will fight with thee ? Lions fight not
with curs, and though thou clothe thyself with purple and
gold, all men know that thou art no true son to him thou
rallest thy sire."
8
The Riddle of the Sphinx
And this he said being flushed with wine, and bec3 use
myriad-mouthed Rumour had spread abroad the tale i}iat
CEdipus was a foundling, though he himself knew nought
thereof.
Then (Edipus flushed red with rage, and swift as a gale
that sweeps down from the mountains he fell upon the
other, and seizing him by the throat, he shook him till he
had not breath to beg for mercy.
" What sayest thou now, thou whelp ? Begone with
thy lying taunt, now that thou hast licked the dust for
thy falsehood."
And he flung him out from the hall. But Merope leant
pale and sad against a pillar, and veiled her face in her
mantle to hide her tears. And when they were alone,
(Edipus took her hand and stroked it, and said,
" Grieve not for my fiery spirit, mother, but call me
thine own son, and say that I was right to silence the liar
who would cast dishonour upon my father's name and
upon thee."'
But she looked at him sadly and longingly through her
tears, and spoke in riddling words,
" The gods, my child, sent thee to thy father and to
me in answer to our prayers. A gift of God thou art,
and a gift of God thou shalt be, living and dead, to them
that love thee. The flesh groweth old and withereth away
as a leaf, but the spirit liveth on for ever, and those are
the truest of kin who are kin in the spirit of goodness and
of love."
But CEdipus was troubled, for she would say no more,
but only held his hand, and when he drew it away it
was wet with her tears. Then he thought in his heart,
9
children of tlie Dawn
" Verily, my mother would not weep for nought.
What if, after all, there be something in the tale ? 1 will
go to the central shrine of Hellas and ask the god of
Truth, golden-haired Apollo. If he say it is a lie, verily
I will thrust it back down that coward's throat, and the
whole land shall ring with his infamy. And if it be true— -
the gods will guide me how to act."
So he set forth alone upon his pilgrimage. And he
took the road that runs by the side of the sea and up past
Mount Gerania, with its pine-clad slopes, where Megarus,
the son of Zeus, took refuge, when the floods covered all
the land and only the mountain-tops stood out like
islands in the sea. For he followed the cry of the cranes
as they sought refuge from the waters, and was saved, and
founded the city of Megara, which is called by his name to
this day. Right past iEgosthena — the home of the black-
footed goats — went (Edipus to Creusis, along the narrow
rocky path between the mountains and the sea, where a
man must needs be sure of foot and steady of head, if he
is to stand against the storms that sweep down from
bleak Cithseron. For the winds rush shrieking down the
hills like Furies in their wrath, and they sweep all thai
stands in their way over the beetling cliffs into the
yawning, seething gulf below, and those that fall into her
ravening jaws she devours like some wild beast, and they
are seen no more. Then he went through fertile Thisbe
past the little port of Tipha, the home of Tiphys, helms-
man of the famous Argonauts, who sailed to nameless
lands and unknown seas in their search for the Golden
Fleece. And many a roaring torrent did he cross, as it
rushed foaming down from the steep white cliffs of
10
The Riddle of tlic Sphinx
Helicon, and over pathless mountains, past rocky Anti-
cyra and the hills of hellebore, and through the barren
plain of Cirrha, till he came to rock-built Crisa and the
fair Crisean plain, the land of cornfields and vineyards
and the grey-green olive-groves, where in spring-time the
pomegranate and oleander flowers shine out red as
beacon-fires by night.
There he had well-nigh reached his journey's end, and his
heart beat fast as he mingled with the band of pilgrims,
each bound on his different quest to the god of Light and
Truth, golden-haired Apollo, the mightiest of the sons of
Zeus and the slayer of Pytho, the famous dragon. At
Delphi is his shrine and dwelling-place, and there within
his temple stands the sacred stone which fell from heaven
and marks the centre of the earth. A great gulf yawns
beneath, a mighty fissure going deep down into the bowels
of the earth to the regions of the dead and the land of
endless night ; and deadly fumes rise up and noxious mists
and vapours, so that the Pythian priestess, who sits above
on her brazen tripod, is driven to frenzy by their power.
Then it is that she hears the voice of Apollo, and her eyes
are opened to see what no mortal can see, and her ears
to hear the secrets of the gods and Fate. Those things
which Apollo bids her she chants to the pilgrims in mystic
verse, which only the wise can interpret aright. So from
north and south and east and west men flocked to hear her
prophecies, and the fame of Apollo's shrine went out
through every land — from Ocean's stream and the Pillars
of Heracles to the far Ionian shore and Euphrates, the
mighty river of the East.
(Edipus drew near to the sacred place and made due
11
children of the Dawn
sacrifice, and washed in the great stone basin, and put
away all uncleanness from his heart, and went through
tlie portals of rock to the awful shrine within, where the
undying fire burns night and day and the sacred laurel
stands. And he put his question to the god and waited
for an answer. Through the dim darkness of the shrine
he saw the priestess on her tripod, veiled in a mist of
incense and vapour, and as the power of the god came
upon her she beheld the things of the future and the
hidden secrets of Fate. And she raised her hand towards
Qidipus, and with pale lips spoke the words of doom,
" CEdipus, ill-fated, thine own sire shalt thou slay."
As she spoke the words his head swam round like a
whirlpool, and his heart seemed turned to stone ; then,
with a loud and bitter cry, he rushed from the temple,
through the throng'ng crowd of pilgrims down into the
Sacred Way, and the people moved out of liis path like
shadows. Blindly he sped along the stony road, down
through the pass to a place where three roads meet, and
he shuddered as he crossed them ; for Fear laid her cold
hand upon his heart and filled it with a wild, unreasoning
dread, and branded the image of that awful spot upon
his brain so that he could never forget it. On every
side the mountains frowned down upon him, and seemed
to echo to and fro the doom which the priestess had
spoken. Straight forward he went like some hunted
thing, turning neither to right nor left, till he came to a
narrow path, where he met an old man in a chariot drawn
by mules, with his trusty servants round him.
" Ho ! there, thou madman !" they shouted ; *' stand
by and let the chariot pass."
12
The Riddle of the Sphinx
" Madmen yourselves," he cried, for his sore heart
could not brook the taunt. " I am a king's son, and will
stand aside for no man."
So he tried to push past them by force, though he was
one against many. And the old man stretched out his
hand as though to stop him, but as well might a child
hope to stand up against a wild bull. For he thrust him
aside and felled him from his seat, and turned upon his
followers^ and, striking out to right and left, he stunned
one and slew another, and forced his way through in blind
fury. But the old man lay stiff and still upon the road.
The fall from the chariot had quenched the feeble spark
of life within him, and his spirit fled away to the house
of Hades and the kingdom of the Dead. One trusty
servant lay slain by his side, and the other senseless and
stunned, and when he awoke, to find his master and his
comrades slain, (Edipus was far upon his way.
On and on he went, over hill and dale and mountain-
stream, till at length his strength gave way, and he sank
down exhausted. And black despair laid hold of his
heart, and he said within himself,
" Better to die here on the bare hill-side and be food
for the kites and crows than return to my father's house
to bring death to him and sorrow to my mother's heart."
But sweet sleep fell upon him, and when he awoke hope
and the love of life put other thoughts in his breast. And
he remembered the words which Merope the queen had
spoken to him one day when he was boasting of his
strength and skill.
" Strength and skill, my son, are the gifts of the gods,
as the rain which falleth from heaven and giveth life and
13
Children of the Dawn
increase to the fruits of the earth. But man's pride is an
angry flood that bringeth destruction on field and city.
Remember that great gifts may work great good or great
evil and he who has them must answer to the gods below
if he use them well or ill."
And he thought within himself,
" 'Twere ill to die if, even in the uttermost parts of
the earth, men need a strong man's arm and a wise man's
cunning. Never more will I return to far-famed Corinth
and my home by the sounding sea, but to far-distant
lands will I go and bring blessing to those who are not of
my kin, since to mine own folk I must be a curse if ever
I return."
So he went along the road from Delphi till he came to
seven-gated Thebes. There he found all the people in
deep distress and mourning, for their king Laius was
dead, slain by robbers on the high road, and they had
buried him far from his native land at a place where three
roads meet. And, worse still, their city was beset by a
terrible monster, the Sphinx, part eagle and part lion,
with the face of a woman, who every day devoured a man
because they could not answer the riddle she set them.
All this (Edipus heard as he stood in the market-place and
talked with the people.
" What is this famous riddle that none can solve ?" he
asked.
" Alas ! young man, that none can say. For he that
would solve the riddle must go up alone to the rock where
she sits. Then and there she chants the riddle, and if
he answer it not forthwith she tears him limb from limb.
And if none go up to try the riddle, then she swoops down
The Riddle of the Sphinx
upon the city and carries off lier victims, and spares not
woman or child. Our wisest and bravest have gone np;
and our eyes have seen them no more. Now there is no
man left who dare face the terrible beast."
Then (Edipus said,
" I will go up and face this monster. It must be a
hard riddle indeed if I cannot answer it."
"Oh, overbold and rasli," they cried, " thinkcst thou
to succeed where so many have failed ?'"
" Better to try, and fail, than never to try at all."
'* Yet, where failure is death, surely a man should think
twice ?"
" A man can die but once, and how better than in
trying to save his fellows ?"
As they looked at his strong young limbs and his fair
young face they pitied him.
" Stranger," they said, " who art thou to throw away
thy life thus heedlessly ? Are there none at home to
mourn thee and no kingdom thou shouldst rule ? For, of
a truth, thou art a king's son and no common man."
" Nay, were I to return, my home would be plunged in
mourning and woe, and the people would drive me from
my father's house."
They marvelled at his answer, but dared question him
no further ; and, seeing that nothing would turn him from
his purpose, they showed him the path to the Sphinx's
rock, and all the people went out with him to the gate
with prayers and blessings. At the gate they left him,
for he who goes up to face the Sphinx must go alone, and
none can stand by and help him. So he went through
the Crenean gate and across the stream of Dirce into the
15
Children of the Dawn
wide plain, and the mountain of the Sphinx stood out
dark and clear on the other side. Then he prayed to
Pallas Athene, the grey-eyed goddess of Wisdom, and she
took all fear from his heart. So he went up boldly to the
rock, where the monster sat waiting to spring upon her
prey ; yet for all his courage his heart beat fast as he
looked on her. For at first she appeared like a mighty
bird, with great wings of bronze and gold, and the
glancing sunbeams played about them, casting a halo of
light around, and in the midst of the halo her face shone
out pale and beautiful as a star at dawn. But when she
saw him coming near, a greedy fire lit up her eyes, and she
put out her cruel claws and lashed her tail from side to
side like an angry lion waiting for his prey. Neverthe-
less, CEdipus spoke to her fair and softly,
"Oh, lady, I am come to hear thy famous riddle and
answer it or die."
" Foolhardy mauling, a dainty morsel the gods have
sent this day, with thy fair young face and fresh young
limbs."
And she hcked her cruel lips.
Then CEdipus felt his blood boil within him, and he
wished to slay her then and there ; for she who had been
the fairest of women was now the foulest of beasts, and
he saw that by her cruelty and lust she had killed the
woman's soul within her, and the soul of a beast had taken
its place.
" Come, tell me thy famous riddle, foul Fury that
thou art, that I may answer it and rid the land of this
curse."
" At dawn it creeps on four legs ; at noon it strides on
i6
"She put out her cruel claws and lashed her tail from side to side like
an angry lion waiting for his prey."
The Riddle of the Sphinx
two ; at sunset and evening it totters on three. What is
this thing, never the same, yet not many, but one ?"
So she chanted slowly, and her eyes gleamed cruel and
cold.
Then thought (Edipus within himself,
" Now or never must my learning and wit stand me in
good stead, or in vain have I talked with the wisest of
men and learnt the secrets of Phoenicia and Egypt."
And the gods wlio had given liim understanding sent
light into his heart, and boldly he answered,
" Wliat can this creature be but man, O Sphinx ?
For, a helpless babe at the dawn of life, he crawls on his
hands and feet ; at noontide he walks erect in the strength
of his manhood ; and at evening he supports his tottering
limbs with a staff, the prop and stay of old age. Have
I not answered aright and guessed thy famous riddle ?"
Then with a loud cry of despair, and answering him
never a word, the great beast sprang up from her seat on
the rock and hurled herself over the precipice into the
yawning gulf beneath. Far away across the plain the
people heard her cry, and they saw the flash of the sun
on her brazen wings like a gleam of lightning in the summer
sky. Thereupon they sent up a great shout of joy to
heaven, and poured out from every gate into the open plain,
and some raised CEdipus upon their shoulders, and with
shouts and songs of triumph bore him to the city. Then
and there they made him king with one accord, for the
old king had left no son behind him, and who more fitted
to rule over them than the slayer of the Sphinx and the
saviour of their city ?
So Qidipus became king of Thebes, and wisely and
19
children of the Dawn
well did he rule, and for many a long year the land pros-
pered both in peace and war. But the day came when a
terrible pestilence broke out, and the people died by
hundreds, so that at last (Edipus sent messengers to
Delphi to ask why the gods were angry and had sent a
plague upon the land. And this was tlie answer they
brought back,
" There is an unclean thing in Thebes. Never has the
Tiurderer of Laius been found, and he dwells a pollution
in the land. Though the vengeance of the gods is slou-,
yet it cometh without fail, and the shedding of blood
shall not pass unpunished."
Then CEdipus made proclamation through the land that
if any man knew who the murderer was, they should give
him up to his doom and appease the anger of Heaven.
And he laid a terrible curse on any who dared to give so
much as a crust of bread or a draught of water to him who
had brought such suffering on the land. So throughout
the country far and wide a search was made to track out
the stain of blood and cleanse the city from pollution,
but day after day the quest was fruitless, and the pesti-
lence raged unceasingly, and darkness fell upon the soul
of the people, as their prayers remained unanswered and
their burnt-offerings smoked in vain upon the altars of
the gods. Then at last (Edipus sent for the blind seer
Teiresias, who had lived through six generations of mortal .
men, and was the wisest of all prophets on earth. He
knew the language of the birds, and, though his eyes were
closed in darkness, his ears were opened to hear the
secrets of the universe, and he knew the hidden things
of the past and of the future. But at first when he
20
The Riddle of tlie Sphinx
came before the king he would tell him nothing, but
begged him to question no further.
" For the things of the future will come of themselves,"
he cried, " though I shroud them in silence, and evil will
it be for thee, O king, and evil for thine house if 1
speak out the knowledge that is hidden in my heart."
At last OEdipus grew angry at his silence, and taunted
him,
" Verily, methinks thou thyself didst aid in the
plotting of this deed, seeing that thou carest nought for
the people bowed down beneath the pestilence and the
dark days that are fallen on the land, so be it thou canst
shield the murderer and escape thyself from the curse of
the gods."
Then Teiresias was stung past bearing, and would hold
his tongue no longer. " By thine own doom shalt thou
be judged, O king," he said. " Thou thyself art the
murderer, thyself the pollution that staineth the land
with the blood of innocent men."
Then (Edipus laughed aloud,
" Verily, old man, thou pratest. What rival hath
urged thee to this lie, hoping to drive me from the throne
of Thebes ? Of a truth, not thine eyes only, but thy
heart, is shrouded in a mist of darkness."
" Woe to thee, (Edipus, woe to thee ! Thou hast
sight, yet seest not who thou art, nor knowest the deed of
thine hand. Soon shalt thou wander sightless and blind,
a stranger in a strange land, feeling the ground with a
staff, and men shall shrink back from thee in horror
when they heai thy name and the deed that thou hast
done."
21
Children of the Dawn
And the people were hushed by the words of the old
man, and knew not what to think. But the wife of
(Edipus, who stood by his side, said,
'' Hearken not to him, my lord. For verily no mortal
can search the secrets of Fate, as I can prove full well by
the words of this same man that he spoke in prophecy.
For he it was who said that Laius, the king who is dead,
should be slain by the hand of his own son. However,
that poor innocent never grew to manhood, but was
exposed on the trackless mountain-side to die of cold
and hunger ; and Laius, men say, was slain by robber
bands at a place where three roads meet. So hearken not
to seer-craft, ye people, nor trust in the words of one
who is proved a false prophet."
But her words brought no comfort to CEdipus, and a
dreadful fear came into his heart, like a cold, creeping
snake, as he listened. For he thought of his journey
from Delphi, and of how in his frenzy he had struck down
an old man and his followers at a place where three
roads meet. When he questioned her further, the time
and the place and the company all tallied, save only tliat
rumour had it that Laius had been slain by robber bands,
whilst he had been single-handed against many.
" Was there none left," he asked, " who saw the deed
and lived to tell the tale ?"
" Yea, one faithful follower returned to bear the news,
but so soon as the Sphinx was slain and the people had
made thee king he went into distant pastures with his
flocks, for he could not brook to see a stranger in his
master's place, albeit he had saved the land from woe."
" Go, summon him," said CEdipus. " H the murderers
The Riddle of the Sphinx
were many, as rumour saith, with his aid we may track
them out ; but if he was one man single-handed — yea,
though that man were myself — of a truth he shall be an
outcast from the land that the plague may be stayed
from the people. Verily, my queen, my heart misgives
me when I remember my wrath and the deed that I
wrought at the cross-roads."
In vain she tried to comfort him, for a nameless fear
had laid hold of his heart.
Now, while they were waiting for the herdsman to
come, a messenger arrived in haste from Corinth to say
that Polybus was dead, and that (Edipus was chosen king
of the land, for his fame had gone out far and wide as the
slayer of the Sphinx and the wisest of the kings of Hellas.
When Qidipus heard the news, he bowed his head in
sorrow to hear of the death of the father he had loved,
and turning to the messenger, he said,
" For many a long year my heart hath yearned toward
him who is dead, and verily my soul is grieved that I
shall see him no more in the pleasant light of the sun.
But for the oracle's sake I stayed in exile, that my hand
might not be red with a father's blood. And now I
thank the gods that he has passed away in a green old
age, in the fulness of years and of honour."
But the messenger wondered at his words.
" Knewest thou not, then, that Polybus was no father
to thee in the flesh, but that for thy beauty and thy
strength he chose thee out of all the land to be a son to
him and heir to the kingdom of Corinth ?"
■' What sayest thou, bearer of ill news that thou art ?"
cried CEdipus. " To prove that same tale of thine a
23
children of the Dawn
slanderous lie I went to Delphi, and there the priestess
prophesied that I should slay mine own sire. Wherefore
I went not back to my native land, but have lived in
exile all my days."
" Then in darkness of soul hast thou lived, O king.
For with mine own hands I received thee as a babe from
a shepherd on dim CitluTron, from one of the herdsmen
of Laius, who was king before thee in this land."
" Woe is me, then ! The curse of the gods is over me
yet. I know not my sire, and unwittingly I may slay
him and rue the evil day. And a cloud of darkness
hangeth over me for the slaying of King Laius. But
lo ! they bring the herdsman who saw the deed done,
and pray Heaven he may clear me from all guilt. Bring
him forward that I may question him."
Then they brought the man forward before the king,
though he shrank back and tried to hide himself. When
the messenger from Corinth saw him he started back in
surprise, for it was the very man from whose hands he
had taken (Edipus on the mountain-side. And he said
to the king,
" Behold the man who wall tell thee the secret of thy
birth. From his hands did I take thee as a babe on dim
CithcTron."
Then (Edipus questioned the man, and at first he denied
it from fear, but at last he was fain to confess.
" And who gave me to thee to slay on the barren
mountain-side ?"
" I pray thee, my king, ask no more. Some things
there are that are better unsaid."
"' Nay, tell me, and fear not. I care not if I am a
24
The Riddle of the Sphinx
child of shame and slavery stains my birth. A son of
Fortune the gods have made me, and have given me good
days with the evil. Speak out, I pray thee. Though I
be the son of a slave, I can bear it."
" No son of a slave art thou, but seed of a royal house.
Ask me no more, my king."
" Speak, speak, man. Thou drivest me to anger, and
I will make thee tell, though it be by force."
" Ah ! lay not cruel hands upon me. For thine own
sake I would hide it. From the queen thy mother I
had thee, and thy father was — Laius the king. At the
cross-roads from Delphi didst thou meet him in his
chariot, and slew him unwittingly in thy wrath. Ah,
woe is me ! For the gods have chosen me out to be an
unwilling witness to the truth of their oracles."
Then a great hush fell upon all the people like the lull
before a storm. For the words of the herdsman were
so strange and terrible that at first they could scarce
take in their meaning. But when they understood that
(Edipus was Laius's own son, and that he had fulfilled the
dreadful prophecy and slain his sire, a great tumult
arose, some saying one thing and some another ; but the
voice of (Edipus was heard above the uproar,
" Ah, woe is me, woe is me ! The curse of the gods
is upon me, and none can escape their wrath. Blindly
have I done this evil, and when I was striving to escape
Fale caught me in her hidden meshes. Oh, foolish hearts
of men, to think that ye can flee from the doom of the
gods ; for lo ! ye strive in the dark, and your very struggles
bind you but closer in the snare of your fate. Cast me
from the land, ye people ; do with me what ye will. For
25
Children of the Dawn
the gods have made me a curse and a pollution, and by
my death alone will the land have rest from the pestilence."
And the peof>le would have taken him at his word ;
for tickle is the heart of the multitude, and swayed this
way and that by every breath of calamity. They were
sore stricken, too, by the pestilence, and in their wrath
against the cause of it they forgot the slaying of the
Sphinx and the long days of peace and prosperity. But
the blind seer Teiresias rose up in their midst, and at his
voice the people were silent.
" Citizens of Cadmus, foolish and blind of heart ! Will
ye slay the saviour of your city ? Have ye forgotten
the man-devouring Sphinx and the days of darkness ?
Verily prosperity blunteth the edge of gratitude. And
thou, Qidipus, curse not the gods for thine evil fate. He
that putteth his finger in the fire is burnt, whether he do
it knowingly or not. As to thy sire, him indeed didst
thou slay in ignorance ; but the shedding of man's blood
be upon thine own head, for that was the fruit of thy
wrathful spirit, which, through lack of curbing, broke
forth like an angry beast. Hadst thou never slain a man,
never wouldst thou have slain thy sire. But now thou
art a pollution to the land of thy birth, and by long
exile and wandering must thou expiate thy sin and die a
stranger in a strange land. Yet methinks tliat in the
dark mirror of prophecy I see thy form, as it were, a
guardian to the land of thy last resting-place, and in a
grove of sacred trees thy spirit's lasting habitation, when
thy feet have accomplished the ways of expiation and
the days of thy wandering are done."
So the people were silenced. But ^Edipus would not
26
The Riddle of the Sphinx
be comforted, and in his shame and misery he put out his
own eyes because they had looked on unspeakable things.
Then he clothed himself in rags and took a pilgrim's
staff, to go forth alone upon his wanderings. And the
people were glad at his going, because the plague had
hardened their hearts, and they cared nothing for his
grey hairs and sightless eyes, nor remembered all he had
done for them, but thought only how the plague might be
stayed. Even Eteocles and Polyneiccs, his own sons,
showed no pity, but would have let him go forth alone, that
they might live on the fatness of the land. For their
hardness of heart they were punished long after, when
they quarrelled as to which should be king, and brought
down the flood of war upon Thebes, and fell each by the
other's hand in deadly strife. Of all his children, Anti-
gone alone refused to let him go forth a solitary wanderer,
and would listen to none of his entreaties when he
spoke of the hardness of the way that would lie before
them.
" Nay, father," she cried ; " thinkest thou that I could
suffer thee to wander sightless and blind in thine old age
with none to stay thy feeble steps or lend thee tiie light
of their eyes ?"
" The road before us is hard and long, my child, and
no man can say when my soul shall fmd rest. The ways
of the world are cruel, and men love not the cursed of
the gods. As for thee, Heaven bless thee for thy love ; but
thou art too frail and tender a thing to eat of the bread
and drink of the waters of sorrow."
"Ah, father, thinkest thou that aught could be more
bitter than to sit in the seat of kings whilst thou wanderest
27
children of the Dawn
a beggar on the face of the earth ? Nay, suffer me to go
with thee, and stay thy steps in the days of thy trial."
Nothing he could say would dissuade her. So they
two set out alone upon their wanderings, the old man
bowed down beneath the weight of sorrow, and the young
girl in the freshness of youth and beauty, with a great
love in her heart — a bright, burning love which was the
light by which she lived, and a light which never led her
astray. For love guided her into desolate places and
through many a pathless wilderness, and at length brought
her in the flower of her maidenhood to the very gates of
death ; yet when the cloud of earthly sorrow hung darkest
over her head, love it was that lifted the veil of doubt,
and cast about her name a halo of glory that will never
fade. And all the story of her love and how she buried
her brother Polyneices, though she knew it was death to
cast so much as a handful of dust upon his body, you
may read in one of the noblest plays that has ever been
written.
So she and Oedipus set out upon their wanderings. At
hrst (Edipus was filled with shame and bitterness, and
cursed the day of his birth and his evil fate ; but as time
went on he remembered the words of Teiresias — how at
his death he should be a blessing to the land of his last
resting-place ; and the hope sprang up in his heart that
the gods had not forsaken him, but would wipe out the
stain of his sin, and make his name once more glorious
among men. Daily this hope grew stronger and brighter,
and he felt that the days of wandering and expiation were
drawing to a close, and a mysterious power guided his
steps he knew not whither, except that it was towards
28
The Riddle of the Sphinx
the goal of his release. So they wandered on across the
Theban plain and over dim Cithaeron, till they came to
the torch-lit strand of Eleusis and Demeter's sacred shrine,
and the broad plain of Rarus, where Triptolemus first
taught men to drive a furrow and sow the golden grain.
And they went along the Sacred Way which leads to
Athens, with the circling mounta'ns on their left, and to
the right the blue Saronic Gulf and the peaks of sea-girt
Salamis. And many a hero's grave did they pass and
many a sacred shrine, for all along that road men of old
raised monuments to the undying glory of the dead and
the heritage of honour which they left to unborn genera-
tions. And always Antigone tended the old man's feeble
steps, and lent him the light of her young eyes, till at
length they came to white Colonus and the grove of the
Eumcnides. There she set him on a rock to rest his weary
limbs. And the soft spring breezes played about them,
and the clear waters of Cephisus flowed sparkling at their
feet to the fertile plain below. In the dark coverts and
green glades the nightingale trilled her sweet song, and
the grass was bright with many a golden crocus and white
narcissus bloom. As he sat there a great calm filled the
old man's heart, for he felt that the days of his wandering
were done. But while they were resting a man from the
village happened to pass, and when he saw them he
shouted out,
" Ho ! there, impious wanderers, know ye not that ye
sit on sacred land and trespass on hallowed ground ?"
Then Qidipus knew more surely than ever that the day
of his release had come.
"Oh, stranger!" he cried, "welcome is that which
29
children of tlie Dawn
thou saycst. For here shall the words of the propliet
be fulfilled, when he said that in a grove of sacred trees m}'
spirit should find rest."
But the man was not satisfied, and he called to a band
of his countrymen who were in the fields close by. And
they came up and spoke roughly to Qidipus, and asked
his name and business. When he told them they were
filled Math horror, for all men had heard of the slaying of
Laius, and they would have turned him out by force.
But (Edipus raised himself from the rock on which he
was seated, and in spite of his beggar's rags and sightless
eyes, there was a majesty about his face and form that
marked him as no common man.
" Men of Colonus," he said, " ye judge by the evil I
have done, and not by the good. Have ye forgotten the
days when the name of CEdipus was honoured through-
out the land ? Of a truth the days of darkness came,
and the stain of my sin found me out. But now is my
wrathful spirit curbed, and the gods will make me once
more a blessing to men. Go, tell your king Theseus, who
rules in Athena's sacred citadel, that ffidipus is here, and
bid him come with all speed if he would win a guardian
for this land, an everlasting safeguard for his city in days
of storm and stress."
So they sent off a messenger in hot haste, for there was
a mysterious power about the aged wanderer that none
could withstand. And soon Theseus arrived, himself a
mighty hero, who had made Athens a great city and rid
the country of many a foul pestilence. And he greeted
(Edipus courteously and kindly, as befitted a great prince,
and offered him hospitality. But (Edipus said,
-.0
The Riddle of the Sphinx
*' The liospitality I crave, O king, is for no brief sojourn
in this land. Nay, 'tis an everlasting home I ask. For
the hand of Heaven is upon me, and full well I know that
this day my soul shall leave this frail and broken body.
And to thee alone is it given to know where my bones
shall rest — to thee and thy seed after thee. As long as
my bones shall remain in the land, so long shall my spirit
watch over it, and men shall call upon my name to turn
the tide of battle and stay tlie flood of pestilence and
war. Wilt thou come with me, O king, whither the gods
shall lead, and learn the secret of my grave ?"
Then Theseus bowed his head, and answered,
" Show thou the way, and I will come."
So QJdipus turned and led the way into the grove, and
Theseus and Antigone followed after. For a mysterious
power seemed to guide him, and he walked as one who
could see, and his steps were strong and firm as those of
a man in his prime. Straight into the grove did he go
till they came to the heart of the wood, where there was
a sacred well beneath a hollow pear-tree. Close by was
a great chasm going deep down into the bowels of the
earth, and men called it the Gate of Hades, the Kingdom
of the Dead. Here, too, the Awful Goddesses were wor-
shipped under a new and gentler name. For after they
had driven the murderer Orestes up and down the land
for his sin, he came at length to Athens to stand his trial
before gods and men. And mercy tempered justice and
released him from blood-guiltiness, and the Furies laid
aside their wrath and haunted him no more. So the
people of Athens built them shrines and sanctuaries, and
worshipped them as Eumenides, the Kindly Maidens.
31
Children of the Dawn
And now once more a wanderer was to find rest there
from his sin.
Wlien they reached the well, ffidipus sat down upon a
rock and called his daughter to his side, and said,
" Antigone, my child, thy hand hath ministered to me
in exile, and smoothed the path for the wanderer's feet.
Go now, fetch water, and pour libation and drink-offering
to the gods below. It is the last thing thou canst do for
me on earth."
So Antigone fetched water from the well, and dressed
and tended him, and poured libation to the gods. And
when she had finished, (Edipus drew her to him and kissed
her tenderly, and said,
" Grieve not for me, my child. Well I know that thy
heart will ache, for love hath made light the burden of
toil. But for me life's day is done, and I go to my rest.
Do thou seek thy brethren, and be to them as thou hast
been to me. My child, my child, hard is the way that
lies before thee, and my soul yearneth over thee for the
evil day that shall come. But look thou to thine own
pure heart, on which the gods have set the seal of truth
that changeth not with passing years, and heed not the
counsels of men."
And he held her closely to him, and she clung weeping
about his neck. As they sat a hush fell upon the grove,
and the nightingales ceased their song, and from the
depths of the grove a voice was heard like the voice of
distant thunder.
" (Edipus, CEdipus, why dost thou tarry ?"
When they heard it they were afraid. But (Edipus
rose up and gently put his daughter from him, saying,
32
"With firm, unfalt ering steps he led the way once more, and Theseu;
followed after."
The Riddle of the Sphinx
" Lo ! the voice of Zeus, who calleth me. Fare thee
well, my child ; thou canst go no further with me. For
Theseus only is it meet to see the manner of my death,
and he and I must go forward alone into the wood,"
With firm, unfaltering steps he led the way once more,
and Theseus followed after. And what happened there
none can tell, for Theseus kept the secret to his dying
day. But men say that when he came out of the wood
his face was as the face of one who had seen things passing
mortal speech. As for CEdipus, the great twin Brethren
Sleep and Death carried his bones to Athens, where the
people built him a shrine, and for many a long year they
honoured him as a hero in the land of Attica. For though
the sin that he sinned in his wrath and ignorance was
great and terrible, yet his life had brought joy to many
men and prosperity to more lands than one. For with
wisdom and love he guided his days, and with sorrow
and tears he wiped out the stain of his sin, so that, in
spite of all he suffered, men love to tell of the glory and
wisdom of CEdipus, and of how he solved the riddle of
the Sphinx.
35
Eros and Psyche
^ iN the blue waters of the .Egcan
^' Sea, midway between Greece and
Eg3'pt, lies the fertile land of
Crete. Here, long, long ago,
when the gods still walked on
earth in human form and the
sons of men were as children
playing in a fair garden, there
ruled a king who was the father
of three lovely daughters. They
lived in a palace in the rich
Omphalian plain, beneath the shade of snow-capped
Ida, surrounded by smiling gardens and fruitful vine-
yards, with a glimpse, away to the southward, of the
sparkling Mediterranean Sea. So great was the beauty
of these three maidens that their fame went abroad
throughout all the land, and wealthy wooers flocked from
far and wide to win their hands in marriage. The two
elder sisters soon became the brides of two great princes,
and were well content to pass their days in the sunshine
of their husbands' love and admiration, and to deck
themselves with gold and jewels, and listen to the praise
36
Eros and Psyche
of their beauty upon the Hps of men. For the gods had
given t]iem grace of form and feature, but their souls
within were vain and fooHsh, so that in after-years, when
they found their sister more blessed than they, their
vanity and envy brought them to an evil end.
The youngest sister, whose name was Psyche, continued
to live on at home long after the other two were married.
In face and form she was as fair as they, whilst her soul
within was so pure and beautiful that it shed a heavenly
radiance about her, so that when men looked into her
face all thoughts of love and wooing died out of their
hearts, and they w.Tshipped her as one of the Immortals.
Wherever she passed voices were hushed and heads were
bowed in prayer, till at length it was rumoured that
Aphrodite herself, the Queen of Love, had come to live
with men. The temples stood deserted and the altars
bare of sacrifice, and from far and wide men flocked to
Psyche with gifts and garlands and songs of praise.
Then foam-born Aphrodite, Queen of Love, was filled
with jealousy and wrath that a mortal should usurp her
place and name, and she cast about in her mind for some
means of revenge.
" Verily, I must make this Cretan maiden rue the day
when first men laid my offerings at her feet. I will smite
her with so dire a malady that her very beauty shall be
turned to scorn, and the heights to which her impious
pride hath raised her shall be as nought to the depths
of her shame and misery."
Thereupon she sent for her son, the great god Eros,
who lords it over gods and men. The poison of his fiery
darts none can withstand, and with him it rests to burn
37
Children of the Dawn
men's hearts with the fever of unsatisfied desire, or so to
temper the venom of his shafts that it runs hke heavenly
nectar through the veins. Yet the joy that he gives
withal is akin to madness, and the torture of his wrath a
frenzy unquenchable.
" Best-beloved son," she said, " if thou carest aught for
thy mother's name and fame, thou wilt hasten now to do
my bidding. In midmost Crete there dwells a maid —
Psyche by name — whose impious pride hath cast dis-
honour on my godhead. The offerings that are mine by
right are cast before her feet. My temples stand devoid
of worshippers, who flock to pay her court ; and all this
not in Crete alone, but from the farthest shores of Hellas
men cross the sea in white-winged ships to gaze upon her
face. Go now, I pray thee, and smite her with a poisoned
arrow from thy bow. Make her to love some loathly
monster, deformed in soul and body, and with a passion
so shameless and all-consuming that men shall spurn her,
even as now they haste to pay their vows. As thou lovest
me, go with all speed and do my bidding."
So Eros sped away to fulfil Aphrodite's command, and
plant in the heart of Pbyche the image of a dark and
dreadful monster, and make her love it. As she slept
he came and stood beside her, armed with his bow and
poisoned arrows. But when he looked upon her his
arm fell lifeless by his side, and the arrows slipped out
of his hand, for never had he looked on one so fair ;
and her beauty smote his heart as surely as ever one of
his own shafts had pierced a mortal's breast. From that
moment he loved her with all his soul, and swore that no
harm should ever come to hei through him, but that he
Eros and Psyche
himself and no other, whether man or monster, should
be her bridegroom. And he picked up the a'-row and
put it back into the sheath.
" If she can trust me," he said, " she shall never feel
a wound from one of these. I will carry hei" away, and
she shall be mine ; but till the gods are reconciled that I
should wed a mortal, and my mother's anger is appeased,
I must visit her only in the night-time, and she must
not know who I am nor see my face. When the gods
have proved her and found her worthy of me, then will I
reveal myself to her, and through my love she shall be
immortal, and dwell with me for ever in the shining courts
of heaven."
And he bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips.
She smiled in her sleep and held out her arms towards
him, and he knew that his kiss had kindled in her heart
the light of love.
Aphrodite, meanwhile, with her mind at rest, took her
way along the shell-strewn curve of a sandy bay, and
laughing ripples made music at her feet. The Sun was
slowly sinking to his bed in Ocean*s stream, and Night
rode in her crescent car across the calm green vault of
heaven. From Aphrodite's feet a broad gold path of
light led straight to the sunset realms of Helios, the sun-
god, and as she waited on the shore, a band of dolphins
ploughed the sea towards her. In their wake came
Tritons blowing on soft-voiced conches, and some drew
a pearly shell behind and pushed it to the shore and bade
her enter.
" Great Helios bids thee to his midnight revelry, O
Queen of Love," they cried, " and we are come to guide
39
Children of the Dawn
thee along the golden pathway to the glowing palaces
of Sunset Land."
As the goddess stepped into the shell, they blew a
loud salute upon their conches, and spread a silken sail
above her head, and with music and laughter they
crossed the shining sea to the golden halls of Helios.
II
Psyche, meanwhile, all unconscious of the wrath she
had kindled in the breast of Aphrodite, was pining away
at home in loneliness of heart. Little did she care for
the worship that men paid her or for the offerings that
they laid at her feet. It was for the love of a husband
that she longed, and her soul was starving in the midst
of rich gifts and the rapt, adoring gaze of worshippers.
Her melancholy fastened on the king her father, and on
all the palace, and soothsayers and augurs crowded
round the doors with omens, charms, and riddling words,
and prophesied all manner of evil.
At last the king could bear it no longer, and he set forth
on pilgrimage to Apollo's shrine at Delphi, and made
question of the oracle.
" Have the gods ordained that Psyche, my daughter,
should die unwed, though the fairest maid on earth, or
doth some bridegroom await her who tarrieth long ?
O god of Light, reveal his name, and save my child
from death."
Then the tripod shook, and from the midst of the
incense and vapour the priestess made reply,
" Think not of marriage-songs, O king, or bridal
40
Eros and Psyche
torches. On a lonely rock on snow-clad Ida must thou
leave thy child, the bride of no mortal man. But a
savage monster shall come, the terror of gods and men,
and shall bear her away to his own land, and thine eyes
shall see her no more. Wherefore make ready the funeral
feast. Bring forth your sable robes of mourning, and
bid the minstrels raise a dirge for the dead. For so the
gods have willed it."
So the king w'ent sadly home, and his heart was heavy
within him. And all the people mourned with him ;
for they loved the fair princess, with her beautiful sad
face and her kind and noble heart. All manner of tales
went abroad of the monster she must wed, some saying
one thing and some another. But most men thought it
must be Talus, the great giant who guarded Crete. Three
times every day did he walk round the island, and woe
to any stranger who fell in his path or tried to land when
he was by. For from top to toe he was made of burning
metal — gold and silver and bronze and iron — while
through his body ran one single vein that was filled with
fire and fastened in his head with a nail. If any man tried
to thwart him, he would gather him up in his great bronze
arms and hold him to his breast, red-hot with the fire in
his vein, and when he was well cooked through he would
devour him. Many a long year after, when Jason sailed
by with the heroes of the Golden Fleece, Talus rushed
down, and would have stopped them from watering their
ship, and have turned them adrift on the salt seas to be
tortured to death with thirst. But Medea, Jason's dark
witch-wife, beguiled him with fair promises, and made
him cool his burning body in the sea before she would
41
children of the Dawn
come near. Then when she had him under her spells she
softly drew the nail from his head, and the fire flowed
forth from his vein, and all his strength departed, and he
died with a curse on his lips for Medea and her wiles.
But she only laughed aloud, and bade Jason water the
ship and thank the immortal gods that he had a witch-
woman to wife. That, however, was long after, and Talus
was now in the prime of life, and the terror of all the
country-side.
Meanwhile, the land was plunged in mourning, and in
the palace all Vv'as bustle and confusion in preparation for
the funeral rites. All day long the old king sat in his
chamber, and looked out towards tlie lonely heights of
Ida, where his daughter was to be left.
" Better that she should die in her maidenhood," he
cried, " than wed this terrible monster."
Psyche alone in all the palace was calm, and tried to
comfort her father.
" Sire," she said, as she put her arms about his neck,
" to look on thy tears is to me more bitter than my fate.
Weep not for me, for something within me bids me take
comfort, and I hear a sweet voice say, ' Rejoice, beloved,
and come with me.' Dark was that day, my father, when
first men laid their offerings at my feet, and my heart
dwelt apart in its loneliness. And now, if but for one
day I may look upon the face of my bridegroom, I would
gladly die. For, methinks, it is no monster I must wed."
But the king thought only of the words of the oracle,
and would not be comforted.
At length the bridal day dawned, and the sad proces-
sion wound slowly from the palace towards Ida. Choruses
42
Eros and Psyche
of singers led the way with solemn dirges for the dead,
and the king, uncrowned, followed with his nobles clad in
armour and holding blazing torches in their hands. Next
came Psyche, all in white, with a bridal veil and garlands,
and surrounded by white-robed maidens ; and last of all
the people of the city followed with loud wailing and
lamentation. Up the steep mountain road they went,
and the path grew rougher and narrower step by step.
On either side the dark rocks frowned down upon them,
and echoed to and fro the wailings of the people as they
passed, and above them the snow-capped peak of Ida
stood out against the summer sky, like a lonely sentinel
keeping watch over the plain below. Slowly the shadows
of the rocks lengthened across the barren slopes, and the
funeral torches shone pale in the glowing sunset light.
At last they reached the appointed place beneath the
unn-elting snow, and on the barren rock they set the
maiden, and bade her a sorrowful good-bye. Ever and
anon they turned back to look on her as they wound
down the mountain-track, and always she waved to them
a fond farewell. At length the shadows fell on all the
mountain-side, and only the snow-clad peak flashed like a
ruby in the last rays of the sun, and as they looked back-
ward for the last time they saw Psyche transformed in
the golden light. Her white dress shone like a rainbow,
and her golden hair fell about her shoulders like a stream
of fire, and as she raised her arm to wave to them she
looked like no mortal maid, but a goddess in all her
beauty, so that the people hushed their voices and bowed
their heads before her. Soon the light faded, and they
could see her no more. Sadly they went their way, and
43
children of the Dawn
all down the mountain-track and across the plain below the
torches shone out like pale twinkling stars in the darkness.
Psyche, meanwhile, left alone, pondered sadly on her
fate, and wondered what the night would bring. And
as she sat and pondered, a soft breeze played about her,
filling her veil and robe, and gently she felt herself
lifted from the rock and borne through the air, till she
was laid down upon a grassy bank sweet with the scent of
thyme and violets. Here a deep sleep fell upon her, and
she knew no more.
Ill
Day was dawning when Psyche awoke, and high up in
the bright air the larks were singing their morning hymn
to the sun, and calling on bird and beast and flower to
awake and rejoice in the glad daylight. At first she could
remember nothing of what had happened, and wondered
where she was ; then slowly all the sad ceremony of the
day before came back to her — the funeral procession up
Mount Ida, the lonely rock on which she had been left,
and the soft west wind that had borne her away. So she
rose up from the green bank on which she had slept all
night, and looked round about her to see what manner
of land she was in.
She found herself standing on a hillock in the midst
of a fertile plain. Steep cliffs rose up on every side
as though to guard the peaceful valley, and keep out
any evil thing that would enter in. To the eastward
only was there a break in the mountain-chain, and the
dale widened out towards the sea. As Psyche gazed,
44
Eros and Psyche
the golden disc of the siin rose slowly from the water,
and his bright rays lit up tlie grey morning sky and
scattered the silvery mist that hung about the tree-
tops. On either side of her was a wood, with a green
glade between sloping up towards a marble temple, which
flashed like a jewel in the rays of the rising sun. And
Psyche was fdlcd with wonder at the sight, for it seemed
too fair to be the work of human hands.
" Surely," she thought, " it must be the handiwork of
the lame fire-god Heph?estos, for he buildeth for the
immortal gods, who sit on high Olympus, and none can
vie with him in craft and skill."
Then she looked about her to see if anyone were near.
But all around was quiet and still, with no signs of human
habitation. Wondering the more, she drew near to the
temple, and w^ent up the marble stairs that led to the
entrance. When she reached the top her shadow fell
upon the golden gate, and, as she stood doubting what
to do, they slowly turned on their hinges, and opened to
her of their own accord, and she walked through them
into the temple. She found herself in a marble court
surrounded by pillars and porticoes which re-echoed the
soft music of a fountain in the midst. Through the open
doors of the further colonnade she caught a glimpse of
cool dark rooms, with carvings of cedar-wood and silver
and silken hangings. And now the air was filled with
music and sweet voices calling her by name.
" Psyche, lady Psyche, all is thine. Enter in."
So she took courage and entered. All day long she
wandered about the enchanted palace discovering fresh
wonders at every step. Even before she knew it the
45
children of the Dawn
mvsterious voices seemed to guess every wish of her
heart. When she would rest they led her to a soft
couch. When she was hungry they placed a table before
her spread with every dainty. They led her to the bath,
and clothed her in the softest silks, and all the while the
air was filled with songs and music.
All this time she had not said a word, for she feared
she might drive away the kindly voices that ministered
to her. But at last she could keep silence no longer.
" Am I a goddess," she asked, " or is this to be dead ?
Do those who pass the gates of Death feel no change, nor
suffer for what they have done, but have only to wish for
a thing to gain their heart's desire ?"
The voices gave her never a word in answer, but led
her to the chamber where her couch was spread with em-
broidered coverlets. The walls all round were covered
with curious paintings, telling of the deeds of gods and
heroes — how golden Aphrodite loved Ares, the god of
War, and Apollo the nymph Daphne, whom he changed
into a laurel-tree that never fades. There was Ariadne,
too, upon her island, whom the young god Dionysus
found and comforted in her sore distress ; and Adonis,
the beautiful shepherd, the fairest of mortal men.
Psyche, tired out by all the wonders she had seen during
the day, sank down upon her couch, and was soon asleep.
But sleep had not long sealed her lids before she was
awakened by a stir in the room. The curtain over her
head rustled as though someone were standing beside
her. She lay still, almost fainting with terror, scarcely
daring to breathe, when she heard a voice softly call her
by name.
46
Eros and Psyche
" Psyche, my own, my beloved, at last I have got thee,
my dear one."
And two strong aims were round her and a kiss upon
her lips. Then she knew that at last the bridegroom she
had waited for so long had come to claim her, and in her
happiness she cared not to know who he was, but was
content to feel his arms about her and hear her name upon
his lips. And so she fell asleep again. When she awoke
in the morning her first thought was to look on the face
of the husband who had come in the dark night, but
nowhere could she find him. All the day she passed in
company of the mysterious voices who had ministered
to her before ; but though their kindness and courtesy
was never failing, she wandered disconsolately about the
empty halls, longing for the night-time, and wondering
whether her lover would come again. As soon as it was
dark she went again to her chamber, and there once more
he came to her and swore that she was his for evermore,
and that nothing should part them. But always he left
her before it was light and came to her again when night
had fallen, so that she never saw his face nor knew what
he was like. Yet so well did she love and trust him that
she never cared to ask him his secret. So the days
and nights sped swiftly by, for in the daylight
Psyche found plenty to amuse her in the enchanted
palace and garden, and she did not think of loneliness
when every night she could hold sweet converse with her
beloved.
But one evening when he came to her he was troubled,
and said,
" Psyche, my dear one, great danger threatens us, and
47
children of the Dawn
I must needs ask thee somewhat that shall grie^^e thy
tender heart."
" Mine own lord," she said, " what can there be that
I would not gladly do for thee ?"
" Well do I know, beloved, that thou wouldst give thy
life for me. But that which I ask will grieve thee sore,
for thou must refuse the boon thy sisters shall ask thee."
" My sisters ! They know not where I am. How,
then, can they ask me a boon ?"
" Even now they stand upon the lonely rock \\hcre
thou wast left for me, to see if they can find thee or learn
aught of thy fate. And they will call thee by name
through the echoing rocks, but thou must answer them
never a word."
" What, my lord ! wouldst thou have my sisters go
home disconsolate, thinking that I am dead ? Nay,
surely, thou wouldst not be so hard of heart ? But let
me bid the soft west wind, that wafted me hither, bring
them too, that they may look upon i^y happiness and
take back the tidings to mine aged sire
" Psyche, thou knowest not what thou askest. Foolish
of heart are thy sisters, and they love the trappings and
outward show of woe, and with their mourning they wring
their father's aching heart till he can bear it no more.
So he hath sent them forth to see whether they can hear
aught of thy fate. And, full of their own hearts' shallow
grief, they seek thee on the mountain-side, thinking to
find thy bones bleaching in the rays of the sun. Were
they to see thy happiness, their hearts would be filled
with envy and malice. They would speak evil of me,
and taunt thee on thine unknown lord, and bid thee look
48
Eros and Psyche
upon my face and see lest I be some foul monster. And
Psyche, mine own wife, the night that thou seest my face
shall be the night that shall part us for evermore, and thy
first look shall b-e thy last. Therefore answer them not,
I pray thee, but stay with me and be my bride."
And Psyche was troubled at these words, for she
thought her husband wronged her sisters. Nevertheless,
unwilling to displease him, she said,
" I will do thy will, my lord, even as thou sayest."
Yet all the day long she thought on her sisters wander-
ing on the bleak mountain- side, and how they would call
for her by name, and at length go sadly home to her
father's house and bring no comfort. The more she
thought on it the sadder she became, and when her
husband came to her, her face was wet with tears. In
vain he tried to comfort her. She only sobbed the more.
" All my joy is turned to bitterness," she said, " when
I think on the grief that bows down my father's heart. If
but for one day I could bring my sisters here and show
them my happiness, they would bear the news to him,
and in my joy he would be happy too. Let them but
come and look at this fair home of mine, and surely it
will not harm me or thee, my dear lord ?"
" I have not the heart to refuse thee. Psyche," he said,
" though it goeth against me to grant this. I fear that
evil will come. If they ask thee of me, answer them not."
Psyche was overjoyed at his consent, and thanked
him, and put her arms about his neck and said,
" My dearest lord, all thou sayest I will do. For wert
thou Eros, the god of Love himself, I could not love thee
more."
49 D
Children of the Dawn
IV
The next day, when Ps3^che was left alone, she went
out into the valley to see whether she could hear her
sisters calling her. And sure enough, she had not gone
far, when high up above her head, from the top of the
cliff, she heard her name, " Psyche, O Psyche ! where
art thou ?" At thiis she was overjoyed,
" O gentle Zephyr !" she called, " O fair west wind !
waft, oh, waft my sisters to me !"
Scarcely had she said the words than she saw her
sisters gently borne down from the cliff above and set
upon the ground beside her. She fell upon their necks
and kissed them.
" Ah, my dear sisters," she cried, " how happy am I
to see you ! Welcome to my new home. See, I am not
tortured, as you thought. Nay, my life is bliss, as you
shall see for yourselves. Come, enter in with me."
And she took them by the hand and led them through
the golden gates. The ministering voices played soft
music in the air, and a rich feast was spread before them.
All through the palace Psyche led them, and showed
them all her treasures, and brought out her choicest
jewels, and bade them choose out and keep as many as
they wished.
All this time, though there was no corner of the palace
that she kept hidden from them, she spoke no word of
her m3'sterious husband. At length they could contain
their curiosity no longer, and one made bold to ask her,
" Psyche, thou livest not here alone, of a surety. Yet
where is thy lord ? All thy treasures hast thou shown
50
Eros and Psyche
us, bui him, the giver of all, we have not seen. Wlio is
he, then ? Surely he, whom the winds and bodiless voices
obey, must be a god, and no mortal man. Tell us of
him, we pray thee."
And Psyche remembered her husband's warning.
" My lord," she said, " is a huntsman bold, and over
hill and dale he rides this day after the swift-footed stag.
As fair as the dawn is he, and the first down of youth is
on his cheek. All through the hours of sunlight he goeth
forth to the chase, and at eventimehe returneth to me."
It was now close on night, and the shadows fell long
across the cool green lawns of the garden. Psyche be-
thought her that it was high time for her sisters to go,
before they could ply her with questions. So, kissing
them farewell, and sending many a loving message to the
king her father, she called on Zephyr to waft them
away to the top of the cliff.
Hitherto the surprise and wonder at all they had seen
and heard had filled the minds of the two sisters. But
when they found themselves once more alone upon the
barren mountain-slopes, they had leisure to think and
compare their lot with that of their sister. Before they
had seen her golden halls they had been quite content
with their own palaces. But these now seemed humble
beside the splendours they had just left. Their shallow
hearts were quite filled up with the image of themselves,
and they had no room left for their sister. But now her
good fortune forced the remembrance of her upon them,
and they were filled with an envy and jealousy of her
which conquered even their love for themselves. They
could not be content to return once more to their homes,
51 D 2
children of the Dawn
and receive the homage of their husbands and their
households. Their one thought was how they might
spoil her happiness. For the hatred that is born of self-
love is an all-consuming passion that burns up every kind
and noble thought, as a forest fire burns up the tall trees
that stand in the path of its fury.
" How cruel and unjust," cried one, " that she, the
youngest, should be blest so far above us both. My lord
is a very beggar to him who giveth Psyche her golden
halls to dwell in."
" Yea, and mine is an old man b}^ the side of this
beardless youth. Sister, thy grief and mine are one.
Side by side let us work, and verily her cunning shall be
great if she can avail against us and keep her ill-gotten
wealth."
" Thou sayest well. 'Twas from pride that she wel-
comed us to her halls to flaunt her riches before us.
Sister, I am with thee. Quickly let us plan some plot to
unrobe this upstart maiden of her vaunted godhead."
Whereupon they agreed together to bring their father
no word of Psyche's happiness. They tore their robes
and loosed their hair, as though all this while they had
been wandering over the rough mountain rocks.
" Ah, sire," they cried, " how can we tell thee the evil
tidings ? Nowhere can we find our sister, or any trace
of her. Verily, the oracle lieth not, and she is the bride
of some fell monster."
Their cruel words smote their father to the heart, and
quenched the feeble spark of hope that still burned in
his breast. And when all hope leaves the heart of man,
life leaves him, too. So the old king died, and his
52
Eros and Psyche
blood was on the hands of his own children, and one day
they paid the penalty with their lives.
Meanwhile, Psyche liv^ed on in the happy valley in
l)lissful content. Her husband would often warn her that
her sisters were plotting her ruin, but she would listen to
nothing against them. At last one night he said,
" Psyche, to-morrow thy sisters will seek thee once
again. This time they will not wait for Zephyr to
bear them down, but, trusting themselves to the barren
air, they will hurl themselves from the cliff, and be dashed
to pieces on the rocks below. Leave them to their fate.
'Twill be due penalty for their crime, and 'tis the only
way that we can be saved, beloved."
" My lord," cried Psyche, " thy cruelty would kill my
love for thee, were it not immortal. But, in very truth,
all my joy would be slain did I know that my sisters were
killed when I could have saved them. Oh, dearest hus-
band, by the love that makes us one, I beseech thee, send
Zephyr once more to bear my sisters hither."
And she sobbed so pitifully and prayed so earnestly
that once again he had not the heart to refuse.
So about noontide the next day Psyche heard loud
knocking and cries at the door, and she hastened to open
it herself to her sisters. Again she kissed them, and bade
them welcome, and they deceived her with flattery and
honeyed words, and when she was off her guard one said,
" Come, tell us, Psyche, thy husband's name. Among
the immortal gods, where doth he take his place, and
why is he not here to greet us ?"
" My husband," she replied, " is a rich merchant.
Many a long year hath it taken to build up all the fortune
53
Children of the Dawn
you behold, for already the hair about his temples is
touched with snow. And this day hath he gone a long
journey to a distant town in search of rich merchandise,
and he returneth not till the setting of the sun."
Then quickly she called on Zephyr to bear them
away before they could ply her with questions.
When her husband came that night he was more
troubled than before, and begged her to see them no
more, but let them be dashed to death on the rocks if
they troubled her again. Her pure heart, however,
would believe no evil of them ; and in this one thing
she disobeyed her lord.
V
Meanwhile, the second visit of the sisters to Psyche in
her beautiful home had but served to add fuel to the fire
of their envy. When they remembered her confusion
and the different tales she had told them about her
unknown lord, jealousy whispered in their ears that all
her happiness depended on the keeping of her secret, and
that secret they straightway determined to know.
" 'Tis a strange lord, methinks," said one, " who in
the waxing and waning of a single moon doth change
from a beardless boy to a grave and reverend merchant
whose hair is touched with snow."
" True, sister. And therein lieth the secret of her
happiness. Her lying tale but proves that she hath
never seen her lord. And verily, he who would hide his
face from the queen of his heart must be some child of
the Immortals, whose love for an earth-born maid must
be hid from gods and men."
54
Eros and Psyche
" Yea, and they who are loved of the Immortals are
themselves immortal, too, and their seed after them.
Truly, sister, that Psyche should be a goddess is more
than I can bear."
" I feel with thee ! It is not meet that the youngest
should have all. Let us invent some lying tale which
shall make her look upon her lord, and break the spell
which binds him to her."
" What sayest thou to the words of the oracle that
doomed her to w^ed a monster ? Let us go to her and
say that now we know this to be true, and beg her to flee
from a fate so vile."
So once more they trusted themselves to Zephyr,
for Psyche had prevailed upon her lord to promise that,
so long as her sisters should do her no harm, Zephyr
should always be waiting to carry them to and fro from
her.
Early the next day she was aroused from sleep by the
sound of weeping and lamentation at her door, and she
hastened to meet her sisters, fearing some ill news. And
they fell upon her neck, crying,
" Alas, alas, for thine evil fate !"
" Mine evil fate, sisters ? What mean ye ? All is well
with me."
" Ah, so thou thinkest in thine heart's innocence. Even
so falleth the dove a victim to the hawk that wheelcth
above."
" What talk is this of doves and hawks ? Come, my
sisters, weep no nore, for in this pleasant vale even the
winds of heaven breathe gently on me, so good and gr^at
is my lord who commandeth them."
55
children of the Dawn
" Thy lord ! Hast ever seen his face, child, that thou
callest him good and great ?"
" Nay," she answered, blushing to think that they
had guessed her secret, " 'tis true I have not seen his
face, but what need to look upon him when all around
me breathes of his love for me ?"
" Hast never heard tell of foul monsters that wed with
the daughters of men, and come to them only in the night
season, when the darkness can hide their deformity ?
They cast a spell about their victims, and by their wiles
and enchantments they make all things about them seem
fair. But one day, when they have had their fill, and
tire of the maid they have won, lo ! at a word the pleasant
palaces and gardens vanish into air, and she is left all
ashamed and deserted, and scorned by gods and men.
Ah, sister, be warned by those who wish thee well, and
flee from thy vile lot ere all is lost. Even yesterday,
when we left thee, we saw a monstrous shape that glided
after us through the wood, and we fled in terror, knowing
it was thy lord, who would not have us near thee. Come
with us now, and be saved."
When Psyche heard their words she was very troubled.
Truly, 'twas strange that her lord should be loath for her
to see her sisters, unless, indeed, it was even as they said,
and she was the prey of some terrible beast. Yet his
kind and loving words and his tender thought for her
welfare and all the beauty that surrounded her gave the
lie to such a thought.
" My dear sisters," she cried, " I thank you for your
loving fears for me, but it cannot be as you sa3\ Though
I have never looked upon my lord, these fair halls and
56
Eros and Psyche
gardens do but mirror forth the beauty of his soul, and I
know that he is true."
" Then why doth he hide his face ? At least, if thou
wilt not flee with us now, do but put him to the test when
he comes this night. A glimpse at his form will tell
thee that our tale is true ; and if by some strange chance
it be not so, what harm can one glance do }"
Thus they tempted her, and made her doubt her lord,
though sore against her will. So it often happens that
the pure of heart are tortured by the doubts which the
wicked plant in their breasts. As little does a young bird
in the greenwood suspect the hunter's snare as did Psyche
in her loving innocence suspect the malicious envy of her
sisters.
But they were filled with joy at the success of their
plot, and when Zephyr had borne them to the top of
the cliff they could contain their gladness no longer, but
fell upon each other's necks and kissed and danced for
glee.
But Psyche at their bidding made ready to look upon
her lord that night. Under a chair she placed a lighted
lamp in readiness, and shrouded it about, that the light
might not shine into the room and betray her purpose.
Trembling she went to bed that night, for she hated the
deed she must do. At the usual hour her lord came and
spoke lovingly to her, and kissed her, but her words died
away upon her lips, and she shuddered at his embrace.
In time he fell asleep, and his breathing was gentle and
even as that of a child sweetly dreaming in its innocence
of heart. Then she rose up silently in the dead of night,
and walking softly to the chair, she took the lamp from
57
Children of the Dawn
beneath and turned on tiptoe to the bed. Iligli above her
head she held the light, that the ra^'s might fall more
gently on him as he slept, and with bated breath she
drew near and looked on him. As she looked, the blood
rushed headlong through her veins, and her heart beat
fast within her, and her limbs seemed turned to water as
she bent forward to look more closely. For on the bed,
wrapped in deep slumber, lay no terrible monster, as she
feared, but the youngest and fairest of the Immortals —
Eros, the great god of Love. The gleam of his golden
locks was as sunshine on the summer sea, and his limbs
like the eddying foam. From his shoulders sprang two
mighty wings bright as the rainbow, and by his side la}'
his quiver and darts. As he moved restlessly in the
light of the lamp she heard her name upon his lips. With
a low cry she fell on her knees beside him, and as she
did so her arm grazed the point of an arrow placed
heedlessly in the sheath. The poison ran like liquid fire
through her veins, and set her heart aflame, and with
blazing cheeks she bent over and kissed him on the lips.
As she did so the lamp trembled in her hand, and a drop
of the burning oil fell upon his shoulder, and he started
up and found her bending over him.
" Ah, wretched, wretched Psyche !" he cried ; " what
hast thou done ? Couldst thou not trust me, who gave
thee all the happiness thou hast ever known ?"
" ]\Iy lord, my lord, forgive me ! I would but prove
to my sisters by mine own eyes' witness that thou wert
not the monster that they dreaded."
" Thrice foolish maid ! Knowest thou not that doubt
driveth away love ? Did I not tell thee that thy first
ffTW"
" On the bed, wrapped in slumber, lay the youngest and fairest of
the Immortals."
Eros and Psyche
look would be thy last ? From a terrible fate I saved
thee when Aphrodite bade me strike thee with my shaft
and make thee love some terrible beast. When I went
forth to do her bidding thy grace and beauty conquered
me, and I took thee away to be my bride ; and in time,
hadst thou proved worthy, my mother and all the great
gods that rule above would have forgiven me, and shed
on thee the gift of immortality, to live with me ^or ever
in the courts of heaven. But now all is lost, and I must
leave thee."
" Ah, my lord, great is my sin, but I love thee, and my
soul is thine. Over the whole wide world would I
wander, or be slave to the meanest of men, so be it I
could find thee again. Ah, dearest lord ! tell me not
that all hope is gone."
One moment he was silent, as though doubting her.
Then he answered,
" One way there lieth before thee, if thy courage prove
greater than thy faith — one only way, by which thou
canst reach me — the long rough path of trial and sorrow.
Heaven and earth shall turn against thee ; for men win
not immortality for a sigh. Yet will I help thee all I
may. In thine own strength alone thou wouldst faint
and die by the way, but for every step thou takest I
will give thee strength for two. And now farewell ! I
can tell thee no more, neither linger beside thee. Fare
thee well, fare thee well."
As he vanished from her eyes Psyche fell senseless on
the floor, and for many a long hour she lay there, hearing
and seeing nothing, as though life itself had fled.
6i
Children of the Dawn
VI
Meanwhile the two sisters were waiting in a frenzy of
impatience to know whether success had crowned their
evil plot. If the doubt they had planted in Psyche's
breast had borne fruit, and she had dared to disobey her
lord, they knew full w^ell that all her happiness would have
vanished like a dream. Yet, fearing the anger of him
whom the winds of heaven obeyed, they dared not trust
themselves to Zephyr, who had carried them down
before. So they wandered restlessly from room to
room, and peered from the windows, hoping that Psyche
in her misery would come to them and beg for succour in
her evil plight. There was nothing they would have
loved better than to spurn her from their doors and
taunt her on the retribution which had fallen on her
vanity. But all day long they waited, and yet she came
not, so that at length they parted and went each one to
her couch.
But the night was hot and sultry, and the eldest sister
lay on her bed and tossed restlessly from side to side, and
could not sleep. At length she went to the casement
and drew aside the curtain and looked out on the starry
night, and when she had cooled her burning brow she
went back to her couch. Just as she was about to fall
asleep she felt a shadow pass between her and the light
from the window, and she opened her eyes, and her heart
beat fast ; for straight in the path of the moonbeams
stood Eros, the great god of Love, and his wings stood out
black against the starlit sky as he leant on his golden bow.
Though his face was dark in the shadow, his eyes seemed
62
Eros and Psyche
to pierce through to her heart as she lay still and trembling
with fear. But he spoke softly to her with false, honeyed
words.
" Lady, thy sister Psyche, whom I chose out from the
daughters of men, hath proved false and untrue, and lo !
now I turn my love to thee. Come thou in her stead and
be mistress in my palace halls, and I will give thee im-
mortality. Lo ! even now Zephyr awaits thee on the
mountain-top to bear thee away to my home."
So saying, he faded from her sight. Her wicked
heart was filled with joy when she heard of Psyche's fall,
and she rose up in the dead of night and put on her gayest
robe and brightest gems. Without so much as a look
on the prince her husband she went out to the mountain-
top. There she stood alone, and called softly to
Zephyr,
" O Zephyr, O Zephyr, O fair west wind, waft me, oh
waft me away to my love !"
Without waiting she threw herself boldly down. But
the air gave way beneath her, and with a terrible cry she
fell faster and faster, down, down, to the gulf below, and
was dashed to pieces on the rocks ; and from the four
quarters of heaven the vultures gathered and fed upon
her flesh.
As for the second sister, to her, too, the god appeared
and spoke false honeyed words, and she too went forth
alone ; and in the morning her bones lay gleaming white
beside her sister's on the rocks below.
63
children of the Dawn
VII
When Psyche awoke from her swoon, she looked around
her in bewilderment, for the scene which met her eyes
was the same, and yet so different. The forest-trees
waved their arms gently in the breeze, and whispered to
each other in the glad morning light, and in the hedges
the birds sang sweet songs of joy ; for the skies were blue,
and the grass was green, and summer was over the land.
But Psyche sat up with a dull grief in her heart, feeling
over her the dim shadow of a half-forgotten woe that
meets those who awake from sleep. At first she wondered
where she was, for her clothes were wet with dew, and
looking round the still familiar scene, she saw the green
glade in the forest, but no shining palace at the top.
Then like a flash she remembered the night, and how by
her doubt she had forfeited all her happiness, and she
lay on the ground and sobbed and prayed that she might
die. But soon tired out with weeping, she grew calmer,
and remembered the words of her lord — how she could
find him again only after long wandering and trial.
Though her knees gave way beneath her, and her heart
sank at the thought of setting out alone into the cruel
world, she determined to begin her search forthwith.
Through the dark forest she went, and the sun hid his
face behind the pine-tops, and great oaks threw shadows
across her path, in weird fantastic forms, like wild arms
thrust out to seize her as she passed. With hurrying
steps and beating heart she went on her way till she came
out on the bleak mountain-side, where the stones cut her
tender feet and the brambles tore her without mercy.
64
Eros and Psyche
But on and on she struggled along the stony road, till the
path grew soft beneath her, and sloped gently down-
wards to the plain. Here through green fields and smiling
pastures a river wound slowly towards the sea, and beyond
the further bank she saw the smoke from the homesteads
rise blue against the evening sky. She quickened her
steps, for already the shadows from the trees fell long
across the fields, and the grass turned to gold in the light
of the dying day. And still between her and shelter for
the night lay many a broad meadow and the silver stream
to cross. As she drew nearer she looked this way and
that for a ford, but seeing none, she gathered together
her courage, and breathing a prayer to the gods,
stepped into the water. But she was weak and faint
with fasting, and at every step the water grew deeper
and colder, and her strength more feeble, till at length
she was borne off her feet, and swept away by the hurry-
ing tide. In her agony she cried out,
" O god of Love, have mercy and save me ere I die,
that I may come to thee !"
Just as she was about to sink, she felt a strong arm
sieze her and draw her up on the opposite shore. For a
while she lay faint and gasping for breath ; but as her
strength returned, she heard close beside her soft notes of
music, and she opened her eyes to see whence the sweet
sounds came. She found herself lying beneath a willow-
tree, against which leant a strange musician. For his
head and shoulders and arms were those of a man, but
his legs and feet were thin and hoofed, and he had
horns and a tail like a goat. His ears were pointed, his
nose was wide and flat, and his hair fell unkempt and
65 £
children of the Dawn
wild about his face. Round his bod}^ he wore a leopard's
skin, and he made sweet music on a pipe of reeds. At
first she was terrified at the sight of this strange creature,
but when he saw her look up at him, he stopped playing,
and smiled at her ; and when he smiled he puckered his
face in a thousand wrinkles, and his eyes twinkled merrily
through his wild elf-locks, so that none could look on him
and be sad. In spite of all her woes Psyche fairly
laughed aloud as he began to caper round her on his
spindle legs, playing a wild dance-tune the while. Faster
and faster he went, and up and down, and round and
round, till, with a last shrill note on his pipe and a mad
caper in the air, he flung himself on the grass beside her.
" Have I warmed the blood back to thy heart, fair
maid ?" he asked, " or shall I dance again the mad dance
that drives away cold and despair ?"
" Nay, merry monster, even now my sides ache with
laughter. But tell me, who art thou, that savest damsels
in distress, and drivest away their sorrow with thy wild
piping and dance ?"
" I am the god of the forest and woodland and broad
wide pasture lands. To me the shepherd prays to give
increase to his flocks, and the huntsman for a good day's
sport. In the evening, when the moon shines high o'er-
head, and the sky is bright with stars, I take my pipe
and play my lays in the dim dark forest glades. To the
sound of my music the brook murmurs sweetly, the
leaves whisper softly o'erhead, the nymphs and naiads
forget their shyness, and the hamadryad slips out from
her tree. Then tlie eyes of the simple arc opened, and
on the cool, green grass by the side of the silver stream
66
.,J^ . , . , • ■*. tS ?■■• L>' .^
Faster and lastei he went, :iad up and down, and round and round.
E 7
Eros and Psyche
the goatherd, the neatherd and the young shepherd-lad
dance hand-in-hand with the nymphs, and tlie poet,
looking forth from his window, cries, ' How sweet are the
pipes of Pan !'
" But when the dark storm-cloud rides over the sky,
and the streams rush sw^ollen wdth rain, with fleet foot I
hurry through w^oodland and dell, and over the bleak
mountain-tops ; the crash of m}^ hoofs on the rocks
sounds like thunder in the ears of men, and the shriek
of my pipe like the squall of the wild storm-wind. And
I rush through the midst of the battle when the trumpets
are calling to arms ; but above the blare of the bugle men
hear the shrill cry of my pipes. Then the archer throws
down his bow, and the arm of the spearman falls limp,
and their hearts grow faint with panic at the sound of
the pipes of Pan. Nay, turn not from me in terror,
lady," he added, as Psyche made as though she would
flee, " for I wish thee no ill. 'Tis gods mightier than I
who have made me goat-footed, with the horns and the
tail of a beast. But my heart is kindly withal, or I would
not have saved thee from the stream."
Once more he smiled his genial smile, and puckered his
face like the ripples on a lake when a breeze passes over,
" Come, tell me who art thou, and how can I help thee ?"
Then Psyche told her tale, and when she had finished
Pan was silent for a time, as though lost in thought. At
length he looked up, and said,
" Thou seekest the great god Eros ? I would that I
could help thee, lady ; but love once fled is hard to find
again. Easier is it to win the dead to life than to bring
back love that doubt hath put to flight. I cannot help
69
Children of the Dawn
thee, for I know not how thou canst find him, or where
thou must seek. But, if thou wilt journey further, and
cross many a long mile of pasture and woodland, thou
wilt come to the rich corn-lands and the shrine of Demeter,
the great Earth Mother. She knows the secret of the
growing corn, and how the rich fruits ripen in their
season, and she will have pity on a maid like thee, because
of her child Persephone, whom Hades snatched away from
her flowery meadows and dragged below to be Queen of
the Dead. Three months she lives with him, the bride
of Death, in the dark world of shades, and all the earth
mourns for her. The trees shed their leaves like tears on
her grave, and through their bare branches the wind sings
a dirge. But in the spring-time she returns to her mother,
and the earth at her coming puts on her gayest robe, and
the birds sing their brightest to welcome her back. At
her kiss the almond-tree blushes into bloom, and the
brook babbles merrily over the stones, and the primrose
and violet and dancing daffodil spring up wherever her
feet have touched. Go, then, to Demeter's shrine ; for if
thy love is to be sought on earth, she will tell thee where
to go ; but if to find him thou must cross the dark river
of death, her child Persephone will receive thee."
He then pointed out to her the path to the village,
where she could get shelter for the night, and Psyche,
thanking him, went on her way, gladdened at heart by
the genial smile of the wild woodland god.
That night she slept in a shepherd's cottage, and in the
morning the children went out with her to point out the
road she must go. The shepherd's wife, standing at the
door, waved to her with her eyes full of tears. She
70
Eros and Psyche
had maidens of her own, and she pitied the delicate
wanderer, for Psyche's beautiful face had shed a hght in
the rude shepherd's hut which the inmates would never
forget.
VIII
So Psyche went on her journey, often weak and fainting
for food, and rough men laughed at her torn clothes and
bleeding feet. But she did not heed their jeers and
insults, and often those who had laughed the loudest
when she was a little way off, were the first to hush their
rude companions when they saw her near. For her face
was fairer than the dawn and purer than the evening star,
so that the wicked man turned away from his sin when
he saw it, and the heart of the watcher was comforted as
he sat by the sick man's bed.
At length, as Pan had told her, she came to the rich
corn-lands where Demeter has her shrine. Already the
valleys were standing thick with corn, for it was close on
harvest-time, and on the hill-sides the purple grapes hung
in heavy clusters beneath the tall elm-branches. As she
drew near the temple, a band of harvesters came out.
They had just placed the first-fruits of the corn in the
shrine, and now they were trooping to the fields, a merry
throng of young men and maidens. Psyche stood
back shyly as they passed, but they heeded her not, or
at most cast a curious glance at her ragged clothes and
bruised feet. When they had passed her, and she had
heard their merry laughter and chatter die away down
the lane, she ventured to enter the temple. Within all
was dark and peaceful. Before the altar lay sheaves
71
Children of the Dawn
of corn and rich purple clusters of grapes, whilst the flooi
was strewn with the seeds and bruised fruits which the
harvesters had let fall when they carried in their offerings.
Hidden in a dark corner Psyche found the temple-sweeper's
broom, and, taking it, she swept up the floor of the
temple. Then, turning to the altar steps, she stretched
forth her hands and prayed,
" O Demeter, great Earth Mother, giver of the golden
harvest — O thou who swellest the green corn in t\t?. ear,
and fillest the purple vine with gladdening juice, have
mercy on one who has sinned. For the sake of thy child,
Persephone, the Maiden, have pity on me, and tell me
where in the wide world I can find Eros, my lord,
or whether to the dark land I must go to search for
him."
So she prayed, and waited for an answer ; but all was
still and dark in the temple, and at length she turned sor-
rowfully away, and leant her head against a pillar and
w^ept. And, because she had walked many a long mile
that day, and had not eaten since dawn, she sank down
exhausted on the ground, and gradually her sobs grew
fewer and fainter, and she fell asleep.
As she slept she dreamt the temple was dark no more,
but into every corner shone a soft clear light, and looking
round to see whence it came, she saw, on the altar steps,
the form of a woman, but taller and grander than any
woman of earth. Her robe of brown gold fell in stately
folds to her feet, and on her head was a wreath of scarlet
poppies. Her hair lay in thick plaits on her bosom, like
ripe corn in the harvest, and she leant on a large two-
handed scythe. With great mild eyes she looked at
7^
Eros and Psyche
Psyche as one who has known grief and the loss of loved
ones, and can read the sorrows of men's hearts.
" Psyche," she said, " I have heard thy prayer, and I
know thy grief, for I, too, have wandered over the earth
to find the child of my love. And thou must likewise
wander and bear to the full the burden of thy sin ; for
so the gods have willed it. This much can I tell thee,
and no more. Thou must go yet further from the land
of thy birth, and cross many a rough mountain and foam-
ing torrent, and never let thy heart grow faint till thou
come to a temple of Hera, the wife of Zeus the All-seeing.
And if she find thee worthy, she will tell thee how thou
must seek thy love."
So saying, she faded from her sight, and Psyche awoke
and found the temple cold and dark. But in her heart
she cherished the image of the great Earth Mother, with her
large eyes full of pity, and set out comforted on her journey.
Too long would it be to tell of all her wanderings and
all the hardships of the road, but many a moon had waxed
and waned before she stood on the brow of a hill looking
down on Hera's shining temple. Down the hill she went,
and up the marble steps, and men stood aside as she
passed, for her face was fairer than before, and she no
longer shrank back like a hunted thing, but walked with
the swinging gait of those whose feet the kind earth has
hardened, and the breezes of heaven have fanned the fire
in their eyes. In her heart she knew that she had con-
quered and borne the terrors of the path with no coward's
fears, and she prayed that Hera might find her worthy of
doing great deeds to win back her lord. Then she stood
before the altar, and made her prayer,
73
Children of the Dawn
" O Hera, golden-throned, who sittest on the right
hand of Zeus — O thou who, when the marriage-torch is
ht, doth lead the bride and bridegroom to their home, and
pourest blessings on their w^edded love, have mercy on
me, and show me where I may find my lord. Far have
I wandered, and drunk deep of sorrow's cup, but my heart
is strong for any task that shall win back my love to
me."
Thus she prayed, and bowed her head before the great
white statue of the goddess. Even as she spoke, the
statue seemed to change and rise from the ivory throne
in the shape of a woman tall and exceeding fair. Her
robes were like the clouds at sunset, and her veil like
the mountain mist ; on her head she wore a crow^n of
gold, and the lightning played about her feet as she
gazed at Psyche wdth eyes that pierced through to her
soul.
" Psyche," she said, " I have heard thy prayer, and 1
know that thou art true. For I am the wife of Zeus,
who seeth all things, and he hideth naught from me.
Well I know that thou hast wandered far, and suffered
at the hands of men. But greater trials await thee yet,
before thou canst find thy lord. Thou must be slave to
foam-born Aphrodite, the pitiless goddess of Love. And
she will try thee sorely, and put thee to many a hard test
ere she will forgive thee and think thee worthy of her son
Eros, or of the godhead men gave thee long agp. But if
thou overcomest her wrath, thou hast overcome death
itself, and naught can part thee from thy lord again. Go,
then, to where she holds her court in a pleasant valley by
the sea, and forget not that the gods bless tenfold those
74
Eros and Psyche
who waste not the power that is given them, how feeble
soe'er it be."
So saying, she faded slowly away till Psyche found
herself standing once more before the pale white statue.
Then she turned and went through the silent temple, and
out into the sunlight, and asked for the road which would
lead her to the sea and Aphrodite's pleasant vale.
IX
For many a long day she journeyed, till at length she
saw the blue sea far away and a pleasant valley sloping
to the shore. Here the waves broke in laughing ripples
on the beach, and the leaves danced gaily on the trees in
the soft west wind ; for Aphrodite, born of the foam, the
fairest of all the goddesses, held her court there, sur-
rounded by her nymphs and maidens. As she sat on
her golden throne they danced around her with their
white arms gleaming, and crowned her with roses, singing
the while the song of her beauty.
" O foam-born Aphrodite, Queen of Love, fairest of
Time's deathless daughters. Thee the golden-snooded
Hours kiss as they pass and the circling Seasons crown
with grace. Before thee all was fire and chaos, but at thy
coming like sped to like. The earth decked herself with
flowers, and the nightingale sang to her mate on the
bough, and in the pale moonbeams youth and maiden
sped hand in hand through the glade. Thy smile is
like sunshine on ripples, but the flash of thine eyes like
the death-bearing gleam of the lightning ; for not always
art thou kind. The heart of the scorner thou breakest,
75
children of the Dawn
and art jealous for thy rites. Wherefore north and south
and east and west men worship thee, both now and ever-
more, O goddess of ten thousand names !"
As Psyche drew near the nymphs espied her. With
loud cries they rushed forward, and flinging chains of
roses about her, dragged her forward before the throne.
" A prisoner, a prisoner !" they cried — " a mortal, O
queen, who has dared to enter thy sacred vale ! What
fate shall be hers ?"
And Psyche knelt trembling before the throne. She
dared not look up, for she felt the eyes of the goddess
upon her, and the blaze of her anger burned through to
her heart.
" Psyche, what doest thou here ? Knowest thou not
that long ago I loved thee not, because thy beauty taught
men to forget my dues, and mine own son didst thou lead
to disobey my word ? By thy folly hast thou lost him ;
and glad am I that he is rid of thy toils. Think not that
thy tears will move me. Those who enter my sacred
vale become the lowest of my slaves, and woe to them if
they fail to do the task I set them. Verily, thine shall
be no light one, or I am not the Queen of Love and
Beauty."
" O lady," answered Psyche, " 'twas to be thy slave
and to do thy will that I came to thy sacred vale, if
haply I might turn thy wrath to love and prove myself
not all unworthy of thy son. Great was my sin, O
goddess, when I doubted him ; but many are the tears I
have shed, and weary the way I have wandered in search
of him — yea, even to the dark underworld would I go, if
so be it I could find him there. As for the worship that
76
Eros and Psyche
men paid me, Zeus, who scarcheth all hearts, knoweth
that I lifted not mine in pride above thee. Nay, doth
not every gift of beauty come from thee, O mighty one ?
If my face hath any fairness, 'tis that it shadoweth forth
thine image. Weak are the hearts of men, lady, and
hard is it for them to look on the sun in his might. Be
not angry, then, if through the mortal image that
perisheth, they stretch forth blind hands towards the
beauty that fadeth not away. And now on my knees I
beg thee, O queen, to set me thy hardest tasks, that I
may prove my love or die for mine un worthiness."
As Psyche was speaking the face of the goddess
softened, and she answered her more gently.
" Thy words please me, maiden, for the gods love
those who shrink not back from trial. Three tasks will
I set thee, and if in these thou fail not, one harder than
all the others will I give thee, whereby thou shalt win
thy love and immortality. Go, maidens, and lead her
to my garner, that she may sort the golden grain ere the
sun's first rays gild the pine-tops."
X
At the command of the goddess the nymphs gathered
round Psyche, and, binding her hands with chains of
roses, led her away to the garner. Here they set her
free, and with peals of merry laughter bade her farewell.
" Pray to the hundred-handed one, maiden, to help
thee," cried one ; " thy two hands will not go far."
" Nay, an hundred hundred hands could not sort the
grain by sunrise," said another.
children of the Dawn
" Better to work with two hands," said Psyche, " than
idly to pray for ten thousand."
But for ah her brave answer her heart sank as she
looked at the task before her ; for she stood in the largest
garner it had ever been her lot to see — wide and lofty as
her father's palace-halls, and all the floor was strewn with
seeds and grain of ever}^ kind — wheat, oats and barley,
millet, beans and maize, which she must sort each
after its kind into a separate heap before the sun should
rise. However, she set diligently to work, and minute
after minute, hour after hour passed swiftly by, and
the heaps kept growing by her side ; yet for all her
toil 'twas but a tiny corner of the garner she had cleared.
Feverishly she worked on, not daring to look at what
remained to do. Her back ached, her arms grew stiff,
and her eyes felt heavy as lead, but she worked as one
in a dream, and her head kept falling on her breast for
weariness, till at length she could hold out no longer,
but fell fast asleep upon the cold stone floor.
While she slept a marvellous thing happened. From
every hole and crack there appeared an army of ants —
black ants, white ants, red ants — swarming and tumbling
over each other in their haste. Over the whole floor of the
garner they spread, and each one carried a grain of seed,
which it placed upon its own heap and ran quickly back
for another. Such myriads were there, and so quickly
did they work, that by the time the first ray of tlie sun
peeped in at the windows the floor was clear, save for the
heaps of sorted grain standing piled up in the midst. The
bright light pouring in at the window fell ui)on Psyche
as she slept, and with a start she awoke and began
78
Eros and Psyche
feverishly to feel about for the grain. When her eyes
became accustomed to the light, how great was her joy
and thankfulness to see the neat heaps before her ! And
as she looked round, wondering who could have been
so kind a friend, she saw the last stragglers of the ants
hurr3ang away to every crack and cranny.
" O kind little people," she cried, " how can I thank
you ?"
She had no time to say more, for the door was thrown
open, and in a golden flood of sunlight the nymphs came
dancing in. Seeing the floor cleared and the bright
heaps lying on the floor, they stopped short in amaze-
ment.
" Verily thou hast wrought to some purpose, maiden,"
said one.
" Nay, she could never have done it of herself," said
another.
" True, O bright-haired ones !" answered Ps3^che.
" I toiled and toiled, and my labour did but mock me,
and at length my strength gave way and 1 fell asleep
upon the floor. But the little folk had pity on me, and
came out in myriads and sorted out the grain till all was
finished. And lo ! the task is accomplished."
" We will see what our queen shall say to this," they
answered.
And binding her once more in their rosy chains, they
led her to Aphrodite.
" Hast thou swept my garner, Psyche, and sorted the
grain each after its kind ?" she asked.
" Thy garner is swept and thy grain is sorted, lady,"
she replied, " and therein I wrought the little my feeble
79
children of the Dawn
strength could bear. When I failed the little folk came
forth and did the task."
Trembling, she waited for the answer, for she fsared
that in the very first trial she had failed. But Aphrodite
answered,
" Why dost thou tremble, Psyche ? The task is
accomplished, and that is all I ask ; for well do I know the
little folk help only those who help themselves. Two
more tasks must thou do before I put thee to the final
proof. Seest thou yon shining river } On the other
bank graze my flocks and herds. Precious are they
beyond all telling, for their skins are of pure gold. Go,
now, and fetch me one golden lock by sunset."
So saying, she signed to the nymphs to release Psyche,
who went at once towards the stream, light-hearted ; for
this task, she thought, would be no hard one after the
last.
As she approached the river she saw the cattle
feeding on the further bank — sheep and oxen, cows and
goats — their golden skins gleaming in the sunlight.
Looking about for some means of crossing, she espied a
small boat moored among the reeds. Entering it, she
unloosed the rope and pushed out into the stream. As
she did so, one of the bulls on the further shore looked
up from his grazing and saw her. With a snort of rage
he galloped down the field, followed by the rest of the
herd. Right down to the water's edge they came, lashing
their tails and goading with their horns, and an ill
landing would it have been for Psyche had she reached
the shore. Hastily she pushed back among the reeds,
and pondered what she must do ; but the more she
80
mmJ^Smli
She unloosed the rope and pushed out into the stre.Tm.
Eros and Psyche
thought the darker grew her lot. To get one single hair
from the golden herd she must cross the stream, and,
if she crossed, the wild bulls would goad her to death.
At length in despair she determined to meet her doom, if
only to show that her love was stronger than death. As
she bent over the boat to loose the rope, a light breeze
set the reeds a-whispering, and one seemed to speak to her.
" Fair lady, leave us not, for those who reach the
further shore return not to us again."
" Farewell, then, for ever, gentle reed, for I have a
task to do, though I die in the vain attempt."
" Ah, lady, stay here and play with us. Too young
and fair art thou to die."
" No coward is young or fair, kind reed. And before
sunset I must win a lock from a golden fleece yonder, or
I shall never find my love again."
And she let loose the rope.
" Stay, stay, gentle maiden. There I can help thee,
for all my life have I watched the golden herds, and I
know their ways. All day long they feed in the pleasant
pasture, and woe to those who would cross over when the
sun is high in heaven. But towards evening, when he
is sinking in the far west, the herdsman of Aphrodite
Cometh and driveth them home to their stalls for the
night. Then may est thou cross with safety and win a
lock from the golden herd."
But Psyche laughed aloud at his words.
" Thou biddest me steal the apples when the tree is
bare. Thy heart is kind, O reed, but thy tongue lacketh
wisdom. Fare thee well."
" Not so fast, lady. Seest thou not the tall ram
^3 F 2
children of the Dawn
yonder by the thorn-bush ? Sweet grows the grass
beneath its shade, yet to reach it he must leave a golden
tribute on the thorns. Even now there is a lock of his
fleece caught in the branches. Stay with us till the herds
are gone, lady, and then canst thou win the lock of gold."
" O kindest of reeds, forgive my blindness. 'Tis
more than my life thou hast saved, for, with the task
undone, I should lose my love for ever."
So all day long she stayed and talked with the reeds ;
and they told her that often folk came down to the
stream and pushed out for the other bank. But when
the cattle rushed raging to the water's edge they turned
back afraid, and dared not venture forth again, but
went home disconsolate. And so they heard not the
whispering of the reeds nor learnt the secret of winning
the golden lock.
Now the shadows were falling fast, and away in the
distance Psyche heard the horn of the herdsman and
his voice calling the cattle home. At the sound they
lifted their heads, and made for the gate on the far side
of the field. As soon as they were safely through,
Psyche pushed out the boat and rowed to the other bank.
Swiftly she made for the thorn-bush and picked the golden
lock from the bough, and as the boat glided back to the
reeds, the sun sank low behind the hills. Close at hand
she heard the laughter of the nymphs as they came to
see whether the task were done. With a smile she drew
the lock of gold from her bosom, and, marvelling, they led
her back to Aphrodite.
" Thou hast a brave heart, Psyche," said the goddess,
as she looked at the golden lock at her feet.
84
Eros and Psyche
" The bravest heart could not have won tliis lock,
lady, without knowing the secret which the reeds whis-
pered to me."
" Well do I know that, Psyche. But 'tis only the
pure in heart that can understand the voice of the wind
in the reeds ; and thus doubly have I tried thee. Take
now this crystal bowl for thy third task. Beyond this
pleasant vale thou wilt come to a dark and barren plain.
On the far side a mighty mountain rears his peak to
heaven, and from the summit a spring gushes forth and
falls headlong over the precipice down into the gulf
below. Go now and get me a draught of that stream,
but see that thou break not the goblet on the way, for
its worth is beyond all telling."
In truth, as she held it out, the crystal gleamed
brighter than the rainbow. Psyche took the goblet, and
the first rays of the sun found her already on the plain.
Far away on the other side the mountain-peak rose
barren and black against the sky, and she hurried on as
fast as her feet would go, lest night should fall ere she
had filled the goblet. On and on she went, and at
length she drew near to the mountain and looked about
for a path leading up to the summit. But naught could
she see save rocks and boulders and masses of crumbling
stones, and there was nothing for it but to set to work
to climb the rough mountain-side. Clasping the goblet
tightly in one hand, she clung to the rocks as best she
might with the other, fearing at every step that she would
slip and break her precious burden. How she ever reached
the top she never knew, but at length she stood, bruised
and torn, upon the summit. What was her dismay
85
Children of" the Dawn
when she saw that the mountain-peak was divided by a
mighty cleft, and across the abyss she saw the stream of
water gushing out from the steep rock a hundred feet
and more below the summit ! Even had she toiled down
again and up on the other side the rock fell away so
smooth and sheer that a mountain-goat would have no
ledge on which to rest his foot.
Psyche sat down upon a rock to think what she must
do, and the more she thought the more she felt that her
last hour had come.
" For the only way I can reach the water is to throw
myself into the bottomless abyss, where the stream flows
deep down into the bowels of the earth ; and I should be
dashed to pieces, but perchance the King of the Under-
world would have mercy on me, and let my soul return
but once on earth to bear the crystal bowl to Aphrodite."
So saying, she stood and bade farewell to the earth
and the pleasant sunlight and the fair flowers that she
loved, and prepared to throw herself over the mountain-
side. As she was about to spring from the edge, she
heard the whirring of wings above her head, and a mighty
eagle flew down and settled on the rock beside her.
" Far up above thy head, in the blue sky, have I
watched thee, Psyche, and seen thy labours on the moun-
tain-side. Too brave and true art thou to go to thy
death. Give me the goblet, and I will fill it. Knowest
thou that yonder stream is a jet which springeth up from
dark Cocytus, the River of Wailing, which watereth the
shores of the dead ? No mortal can touch of that water
and live, or bear it away in a vessel of earth. But this
goblet is the gift of Zeus almighty, and I am his mes-
86
Eros and Psyche
senger — the only bird of heaven that can look on the sun
in his might. Give me the cup, then, and I will fill it,
and bear it to the mountain-foot, that thou mayest carry
it back in safety."
With tears of joy and thankfulness Psyche gave him the
goblet, and as he flew away across the dark chasm, swift
as an arrow from the bow, she turned and sped down the
mountain-side, heeding not the stones and boulders, so
glad was she at heart. At the foot she found the eagle
awaiting her.
" O mightiest of birds, how can I thank thee ?" she
cried.
" To have served thee, lady, h all the thanks I need.
Farewell, and may the gods prosper thee in thy last great
trial."
And he spread his mighty wings and flew away. Psyche
watched him till he grew but a tiny speck in the blue of
the sky. Then she turned and hastened across the plain
with her precious goblet of water.
The nymphs danced out to meet her as before, and led
her to Aphrodite.
" I see thou art fearless and true, maiden," she said,
when Psyche had told her tale. " Twice hast thou faced
death without flinching, and now must thou go down to
his own land ; for no woman is worthy of my son's love,
if she possess not beauty immortal that fadeth not with
passing years. And she alone, the Queen of the Dead,
can give thee this gift. Take this casket, then, and go
and kneel before her and beg her to give thee therein
the essence of that beauty. When thou hast it, see thou
hasten swiftly back and open not the casket ; for if its
87
Children of the Dawn
fumes escape and overcome thee in the world below, thou
must dwell for ever with the shades."
So Psyche took the casket, and her heart sank within
her at the thought of that dread journey. And the
nymphs waved sadly to her as she went away, for never
yet had they looked on one who had returned from the
dark land of shadows.
XI
Away from the pleasant vale went Psyche, for she
knew full well that nowhere in that fair place could she
find a way down to the world below. As a child, when
she had lived in her father's halls, her nurse had told her
strange tales of dark and fearsome caves which men
called the mouth of Hades, and how those wdio went
down them never returned ; or if one perchance, more
favoured than the rest, came back into the sunlight, his
face was pale and his strength departed, and he talked
wildly of strange things that none could understand.
Far over the country-side she wandered and asked for
the gate of Hades, and some pitied her weakness, and
some laughed at her foolishness, and all men thought her
mad.
" For beggar and king, for wise and foolish, the road
to Hades is one," they said, " and all must travel it soon
or late. If thou seekest it, in very sooth, go throw
thyself from off yon lofty tower, and thou wilt find it
fast enough."
Sadly she went and stood on the tower, for she saw
no other way. Once again she bid farewell to the earth
and the sunlight, and was about to leap from a pinnacle,
Eros and Psyche
when she thought she heard a voice cahing her by name,
and she hushed her breath and hstened.
" Psyche, Psyche," she heard, " why wilt thou pollute
my stones with blood ? I have done thee no wrong, yet
thou wouldst make men hate me and shun the rock on
which I stand. As for thee, it would avail thee nought,
for thy soul would dwell for ever in the Kingdom of the
Dead, and the shadow of thyself, faint and formless,
would glide about my walls, and with thin-voiced wail-
ing weep for thy lost love ; men, hearing it, would flee
from me, and for lack of the builder's care, my stones
would fall asunder, and of all my proud beauty naught
would be left, save a mound of moss-grown stones and
thy spirit's mournful guardianship."
Then Psyche knelt and kissed the stones.
" Poor tower," she said, " I would not harm thee.
Thou canst tell me, perchance, some better way, for I
must bear this casket to the Queen of the Dead, and beg
for a gift of beauty immortal, that I may return to the
earth worthy of my lord."
" Hadst thou thrown thyself over the edge, thou
wouldst never have come to the Queen of the Dead, but
wailing and forlorn wouldst have wandered on the shores
of the Land that has no name ; for betwixt that land and
Hades flows the wide Stygian stream. One boat there
is that can cross it, and therein sits Charon, the ferryman
of souls. Greedy of gain is he and hard of heart, and
none will he take across who bear not a coin of gold in
their mouths. And the pale ghosts of those who have
died away from their loved ones, when none were by
to pay the last rites of the dead and place the gold coin
89
Children of the Dawn
in their mouths — all these flock wailing around him and
beg him with heart-rending cries to take them over the
stream. But to all their entreaties he turneth a deaf ear
and beateth them back with his oar. E'en hadst thou pre-
vailed on him and come to the palace of pale Persephone,
thou couldst not have entered in ; for at the gates sits
Cerberus, the three-headed hound of Hell, and none may
pass him without a cake of barley-bread. But his soul
loveth the taste of earth-grown corn, and whila he
devours it the giver may pass by unscathed."
" The coin of gold and the barley-cake I can get," she
said, " but how I can reach the Underworld alive I know-
not."
" Not far from hence thou wilt find the cave men
call the Gate of Hades. In ignorance they name it, for
no man hath proved where it leads. All the long years I
have stood upon this rock have I watched the entrance
to that cave, and men have come up and looked inside, and
the boldest have entered in ; but always have they come
swiftly back, staggering like drunken men, with pale
faces and wild eyes full of fear, and about them hangs the
smell of the noisome vapours that rise up from the gates of
the dead ; and the old wives sitting by the fireside nod their
grey heads together. ' 'Tis the tale that our mothers told
us long ago and their mothers before them,' they mutter.
' 'Tis surely the Gate of Hades, and those who venture
too far will never come back again.' They have guessed
aright, maiden, and down that dark cavern lies thy path."
" But if those who venture too far never return, how shall
r bear back the essence of undying beauty in the casket ?"
" Instead of one gold piece, take two, and two loaves
00
Eros and Psyche
of fresh-baked barley-bread. One gold coin to the
ferryman and one loaf to the hound must thou give as
thou goest, and keep the rest for thy return, and from
greed they will let thee pass back again. Tie the casket
in thy bosom, and put the gold coins in thy mouth, and
take the barley-loaves one in each hand. See that thou
set them not down, or the pale ghosts will snatch them
away ; for the taste of the earth-grown meal giveth a
semblance of warmth to their cold forms, and for a brief
space they feel once more the glow of life. So by many a
wile will they seek to make thee set down the bread ; but
do thou answer them never a word, for he who toucheth
or answereth one of these becometh even as they are."
Psyche thanked him for his counsel, and went forth to
beg the two gold coins and barley-loaves, and for love
of her fair face the people gave it gladly. When all was
ready, she set out towards the cave. About its mouth
the brambles grew tall and thick, and the ivy hung down
in long festoons, for none had ventured in for many a
long year. As best she might, she cut a way through the
prickly hedge, and stood in the shadow of the cave, and
the drip of the water from the roof sent a faint echo
through the vaults. Through the dark pools she went,
through mud and through mire, and the green slime hung
like a dank pall about the walls. On and on she hastened,
till her head swam round and her heart turned sick
within her ; for round her floated a mist of poisonous
vapour, which choked her and made her gasp for breath,
and monstrous shapes swept past — the Furies and
Harpies and hundred-headed beasts which guard the
gate to Hades. Their cries and shrieks filled the air,
91
Children of the Dawn
and every moment she shrank back, terrified that they
would tear her hmb from Hmb, as they bore down on hei
with the whirr of their mighty wings and their wild locks
flying in the wind. Across the path they stood and
waved her back, and her heart turned cold with fear ;
but she pressed onward with hurrying steps, and lo !
when she came up to them the shapes clove asunder like
mist before the sun, and she passed through them, and
found they were but smoke.
And so she came to the nameless land that lies betwixt
earth and Hades ; a barren, boundless plain it is, with
never a tree or shrub to break the dulness of its sad mud
flats. Up and down it wander the shades of those whose
bodies the kind earth has never covered, and they wring
their hands and wail to their dear ones above, to grant
them burial and the rites of the dead. For Charon, the
grim ferryman, beats them back from his boat, because
they have no coin, and they are doomed to dwell for ever
in the land that has no name.
As she was crossing the dismal plain, an old man came
towards her beating a laden ass. Old and weak was he,
and could scarce stagger along by the side of the beast,
and as he came up to Psyche the cords broke that bound
the burden on the ass's back, and the faggots he carried
were scattered all about. And he set up a dismal wailing,
and wTung h is pale withered hands.
" Gracious damsel, have mercy on an old man, and
help me load my ass once more."
But Psyche remembered the words of the tower, and
she clung the tighter to the loaves of bread, though she
longed to help the feeble shade.
92
'* Help, help ! I drown in this foul stream !"
Eros and Psyche
Onward she went till she came to the banks of the
Styx, the mighty river of Hell, by which the great gods
swear. Nine times it winds its snaky coils about the
shores of Hades, and across its leaden waters Charon, the
boatman of the dead, ferries backward and forward for
ever. When he saw Psyche, he hailed her, and asked her
for the coin. Answering him never a word, she held out
one coin with her lips, and as he took it she shuddered.
For his breath was as the north wind blowing across the
snow, and his eyes w^ere like a fish's, cold and dull.
" Welcome, sweet maiden. 'Tis not often we get a
fare like thee, my boat and I ;" and he laughed a hard,
thin laugh, like the cracking of ice in a thaw, and beneath
her weight the boat creaked in chorus.
Out into the stream he pushed with his pole, and then
set to with his oar, and the rise and fall of the blade made
never a sound in those dull leaden w^aters. As they neared
the middle of the stream, Psyche saw two pale arms rise
up above the waves, and the head of an old man, who
cried out to her piteously,
" Help, help ! I drown in this foul stream ! Ah, for
pity's sake put out one finger to save me !"
And Psyche turned aside to hide her tears ; for the face
was the face of her father, and his cries pierced through
to her heart. As the boat passed by he sank with a moan
beneath the weaves, and she saw him no more.
At length they reached the shore of Hades, and she saw
three paths before her leading upw^ards from the landing-
stage. As she stood, not knowing which to take, the old
man beckoned to her.
" I know not whither thou art bound, lady, for thou
95
children of the Dawn
bearest not on thee the mark of the dead. The souls ol
the wicked I know, for about them fly the Furies, the
avengers of sin, and hound them down the left-hand path,
through Periphlegethon, the river of fire — down, down to
the utmost depths of Tartarus. And the souls of the
brave shine forth like stars in the darkness, and they take
the right-hand path to the Elysian fields of hght, where
the breeze blows bright and fresh and the golden flowers
are glowing. The middle path leadeth to the palace of
pale Persephone, but that way only the gods and the
children of the gods may go, or those who bear with them
some token from the Immortals."
Then Psyche showed him Aphrodite's casket, and turned
up the middle path. Through a dark wood she went, and
came out upon a plain. Here she saw three aged women
weaving at a loom, and they cried out to her in weak,
quavering voices,
" Oh, maiden, thine eyes are young and thy fingers
supple. Come help us unravel the thread."
But for the third time she turned aside, and went
quickly on her way, and when she looked back over
her shoulder the loom and the hags had vanished
away.
So at length she came to the palace of Persephone. The
roof and columns were all of pure silver, which shone
with a pale light through the murk and gloom, like the
shimmer of pale moonbeams on a cloudy night. Above
the heads of the pillars ran a frieze of strange device.
It told of Night and Chaos, and of the birth of Time, and
how the sons of Earth rose up against the gods in deadly
battle, and were hurled into the depths of Tartarus by
96
Eros and Psyche
the thunderbolts of Zeus. And it showed how Prome-
theus the Titan gave fire to mortal men, so that they
learnt all manner of crafts, and became the masters of
all living things, and like the gods for wisdom. But they
ruled by the law of the strongest, and said that might
was right, and begat the foul forms of Pestilence and
War and red-handed Murder. The other side told of the
things that would come to pass when Time and Death
should be no more, and Love should rule the universe.
On that side all the forms were fair and all the faces
beautiful, and the breeze played through pleasant places
where the flowers never fade. In the centre of the pedi-
ment, with mighty wdngs overshadowing either side, stood
a mighty figure, Anangke, great Necessity, the mother of
gods and men. From the one side she looked dark and
terrible, and the world trembled at her frown, but from
the other she was fairer than the day, and by unchanging
law she drew all things after her till they should be
perfected.
On the palace steps before the doorway sat Cerberus,
the three-headed watch-dog. When he saw Psyche ap-
proaching he began to growl, and his growl was like the
rattle of thunder far away. As she drew nearer he barked
furiously and snarled at her, baring his white gleaming
fangs. Quickly she threw him one of the barley loaves,
and while he was devouring it, she slipped gently past,
and stood within the courtyard of the palace. All was
silent and deserted, and her footsteps, as they fell on the
marble pavement, sent no echo through the colonnades ;
for it seemed that even sound must die in that lifeless air.
She passed through great doors of bronze into a lofty
^^-XIXQ^ 97 G
Children of the Dawn
hall. In the shadowy depths of it she saw a great throne
raised, and on it sat the Queen of the Dead. About her
stood two handmaids, and their names were Memory and
Sleep. One fanned her with great poppy-leaves, and as
she did so the eyes of the queen grew heavy and dim,
and she sat as one in a trance. But when this one grew
weary of fanning, anon the other would hold up before
her a great mirror of polished steel, and when she looked
into it the colour would rush into her pale cheeks, and
her eyes would glow like coals of fire, for in the flash of
the steel she saw earth's flowery meadows, and remem-
bered that for three months only did she live in the gloom
and the shade ; and she knew, moreover, that one day the
circling seasons would stay their course, and decay and
death would pass away, and when that time came she
would return no more to the murk and gloom, but dwell
for ever in the sunshine and the flowers. A magic mirror
is that which Memory holds, and few are there who can
bear to look on its brightness, but those whose eyes are
strong gaze into its depths, and learn that knowledge and
remembrance are one.
With timid steps did Psyche cross the hall, and knelt
upon the steps of the throne.
" Child of Earth, what dost thou here -*" asked the
queen. " This is no place for living souls."
" O mighty one, 'tis a boon I beg of thee," said
Psyche, and drew from her bosom Aphrodite's casket.
" Give me, I pray thee, the gift of undying beauty in this
casket, that I may return above worthy of my lord."
" 'Tis a great boon thou askest. Nevertheless, for thy
bravery's sake I will give it thee. For many are they
98
Eros and Psyche
who set out to find it, but few have the heart to come so
far."
Thereupon she took the casket in licr hands, and
l^reathed into it, and her breath was as the smoke of
incense on the altar.
" Take it and return swiftly whence tliou earnest, and
see thou open it not till thou comest upon earth. For in
the land of the dead my breath is death, but above it is
life and beauty immortal. Fare thee well."
With a glad heart Psyche rose from her knees, and sped
through the silent palace. She threw the second loaf to
Cerberus as she passed, and for the second coin of gold
Charon took her once more across in his boat. This time
no sad phantoms cried to her for help, and she knew that
it was for the sake of the earth-grown meal that they had
stood in her path before.
At last she stood once more in the sunlight, and joy
lent wings to her feet as she sped across the plain and
away to Aphrodite's pleasant vale. With the casket in
her hand, she knelt before the throne, but Aphrodite put
out her hand and raised her up.
" Kneel no more to me. Psyche, for now thou art one
of us. But open the casket and drink into thy very soul
the life and beauty that will never die."
Her smile was brighter than sunshine on the shimmering
waves, and the touch of her hand made Psyche's blood
run like fire through her veins. Scarce knowing what she
did, she opened the casket. The fumes rose up in a cloud
about her head, and she knew no more till she felt herself
moving upwards, upwards. As life came slowly back she
opened her eyes, and looked into thr face of him she had
99 G 2
CJiildren of the Dawn
seen but once. His rainbow wings were spread above
her, and his strong arms held her close, and he looked
into her eyes with the look that mingles two souls into
one.
" Beloved," he whispered, " Love has conquered all
things. In thy darkest hour of trial I watched over thee,
and gave thee strength, and now we two will dwell for
ever in the courts of heaven, and teach the hearts of men
to love as we love."
TOO
Hero and Leander
^NE sunny day in April long ago, a
maiden sat in a lonely tower look-
ing out across the Hellespont. At
her feet the blue ripples lapped
lazily on the beach and played a
soothing lullaby upon the stones,
and the white-sailed ships floated
slowly down the stream from
Sestos, carrying their rich freights
of corn and merchandise. To
the north she could see the port
of Sestos, with the great walls running down from the
city to the harbour, and the masts of the ships as they lay
at anchor by the quay. Across the water, facing the
tower, stood Abydos, with its palaces and houses nestling
white at the foot of the low green hills. So narrow is the
sea that runs between Sestos and Abydos, and so swiftly
does the current flow, that the ancients used to think it
was a great river running down from Propontis and the
stormy Euxine, and emptying their overflowing waters
into the wide ^Egean main. So they called it the broad
Hellespont, for the rivers of Greece were but narrow
streams beside it.
lOI
Children of the Dawn
As she looked across the sunlit waters the maiden
sighed, and turned wearily to an old dame who sat
spinning in a corner of the room.
" Good mother," she said, " how many years didst thou
say we two have lived in this wave- washed tower ?"
" 'Tis close on twenty years, my dear, since I brought
thee here, a tiny babe in my arms."
" Twenty years !" sighed the maiden. " Twenty cen-
turies had passed by more swiftly in the bright bus}' world
out yonder. How long is a woman's life, good nurse ?"
" With the blessing of Heaven she may live for four
score years, my child."
" Four score years — four times as long as I have lived
already ! I can well dispense with the blessing of
Heaven."
" Nay ; hush, hush !" cried the old woman, and stopped
her spinning hastily. " What ails thee, Hero ? Thou
wast never wont to speak such dreadful words."
The girl threw herself on her knees beside her, and laid
her head upon her lap and sobbed. The old nurse drew
her fingers tenderly over her long black hair, and waited
for the storm of passion to be spent.
" I am tired — tired of this lonely life," sobbed the
maiden. " Why am I shut up here, all alone ?"
" Thou knowest the reason full well, my child. U
thou goest forth into the world, a great sorrow will come
upon thee, and drive thee to death in the flower of thy
youth. Such was the oracle of the gods concerning thee.
Thy mother — poor young thing ! — scarce lived to hold
thee to her breast, and when she died she put thee in my
arms. ' Take her away, nurse, far from the haunts of
102
Hero and Leander
men, and never let her out into the cruel world. Go, live
with her in some lonely tower by the sea, and make her
a priestess to pitiless, foam-born Aphrodite. Night and
day, as soon as she can lisp a baby prayer, let her burn
incense before the altar of the goddess, and perchance
she will have mercy on her, and save her from her fate.
Full well I know that 'tis with her it rests to strike down
my child or to save her, even as it was she, the goddess
of Love, who laid her cruel hand on me, so that now I
lie a-dying. Ah ! save my child from the fate that has
been mine.' I did as she bade me, and surely we have
not been unhappy, thou and I, together, all these years ?"
And she stroked the girl's cheek tenderly, and sighed as
she thought how, for many months past, it had grown
paler week by week.
" Ah, think me not ungrateful !" cried Hero. " Thou
knowest that I love thee, and would never leave thee.
But my heart is restless, and I long to set foot beyond
this tower and see a great town and streets and the faces
of my fellow-men."
Then she rose from her knees, and led the old nurse to
the window.
"There!" she cried, pointing towards Sestos ; "dost
thou see where the white highway runs down into the
city — how a crowd of pilgrims throng towards the gate ?
See, too, the steep pathway that winds upwards from the
harbour — how the folk move ever one way, up, up, to the
temple of Aphrodite on the hill ! How often have I
watched them year by year as they gather together for
the great feast of Adonis ! Yet 1, who all my life long have
been Aphrodite's priestess — I have never been mside her
103
Children of the Dawn
temple or joined with those wlio throng from far and
wide to pay her worship at this glad season. Verily, the
goddess hath good cause to be angered with me if I neglect
her dues. Good nurse, let me go to-morrow and join in
the procession of the maidens, and let me lay my tribute
of flowers before her altar, that she may bless me and save
me from my evil fate."
But the old nurse was very troubled at her words.
" My child, thou hast thine own shrine within the
house where thou canst burn incense and offer up flowers
to Aphrodite. She will answer thy prayers as well from
here as from the crowded temple in the town."
" Then why do men build her great pillared temples,
and throng from far and near to keep her feast, if the
fireside shrine and the simple prayer would please her as
well ? Nay, she loveth rich gifts and music and singing
and the heads of many bowing as one man before her
image. Ah, nurse, let me go — let me go."
" My child, why wouldst thou go when thou knowest
that the world can only bring thee sorrow .-' Stay here
with me in peace."
" Nay, there is no peace here for me. Aphrodite is
angry, and she will slay me by a slow and cruel death if I
do not keep her feast this year. Should I, her priestess,
stay away, when even the meanest of the folk gather
together in her honour ? All these years I have not
gone, and now she will stay her hand no more. As for
the world and its cruelty, fear not for that. Thou thyself
shaft go with me, and stay by my side till I join the pro-
cession of priestesses and maidens. Then I will go up
with them to the temple, and in their midst I shall be as
104
Hero and Leander
far from the world as in this tower. I long to stand
within the great white temple and hear the chanting of
the priests. I long to see the gleaming image of the
goddess, and the statue of the risen Adonis, and the altars
sweet with incense and flowers. Ah, nurse, let me go,
and all the rest of the year, till the glad season comes
round once more, I will stay with thee in this tower and
pine no more."
So piteously did she beg that the old nurse had not the
heart to refuse, though she feared what might come of it.
But she tried to comfort herself with the thought that
perchance, after all, the maiden was right, and that Aphro-
dite was killing her by a slow and cruel death, because she
had never kept her solemn feast-day.
The next day broke bright and fair, and Hero, as she
looked out from the window, was filled with joy. In the
grey dawn she had risen, and sat looking anxiously across
the narrow sea towards Abydos and the low line of hills
on the further shore.
" O Helios," she prayed, " bright and beautiful,
shine down upon the earth this day, and fill the hearts
of all with gladness ; for it is Aphrodite's solemn feast, and
the greatest day of all my life."
And her prayer was not unanswered. Slowly the grey
dawn turned to saffron, and the golden disc of the sun
rose over the silent hills and scattered the rosy clouds
north and south before him. With a cry of joy Hero
turned away from the window and ran to rouse the old
dame in the other room.
" Nurse, nurse !" she cried, " the sun is shining, and
the world has awaked from sleep. It is time to pick the
105
children of the Dawn
roses and the lilies fresh with dew and weave them into
garlands for the goddess. Come up, up, and out with me
to the garden."
Without waiting for an answer, she tripped down the
turret-stair and out into the garden, and the old nurse
sighed and followed slowly behind. In the golden morn-
ing they gathered the roses and lilies, and wove them into
garlands and posies, and heaped up the loose flowers in
baskets. When all was ready they set out for the town.
Though it was yet early, the streets were thronged with
pilgrims and folk hurrying this way and that to the houses
of their friends and kinsmen. Yet, despite the bustle
and confusion, there were few who had not leisure to turn
and watch the maiden and the old woman hastening
along.
" It is Hebe come down from the courts of heaven,"
they said — " she who giveth to the deathless gods eternal
youth and joy. None can look on her face and be sad."
And, indeed, all the sunshine of the morning seemed
reflected in Hero's face, so glad at heart was she. It was
small wonder that men turned and looked at her ; for
she walked as one of the Immortals, full of dignity and
grace. No evil thing had ever touched her or left its
mark upon her soul. But in a fair garden she had grown
to womanhood, where the breeze made music in the
plane-trees and the weaves beat time upon the shore,
and on the hill behind, the tall dark cypress-trees kept
silent watch above her. No angry word had ever reached
her ears, but as long as she had lived the love of one
faithful heart had shielded her. And now, though she
knew it not, the call of life had come to lief; as it comes
1 06
Hero and Leander
to every living thing, and with eager, open arms she was
answering it. In the midst of that busthng city crowd,
she was hke a fair flower that brings into some restless
sick-room the scent of sunlit meadows and the murmur
of dancing streams. As she went she laughed and talked
merrily to the old nurse beside her, and ever and anon a
flower would fall to the ground from the laden basket
she was carrying ; and one of the crowd would quickly
pick it up and place it in his bosom, and carry away in
his heart something of the music of her laughter and tlie
sunshine of her eyes. The old nurse when she saw it
was filled with fear, and hastened faster along ; but
Hero saw none of these things, nor knew that she was
different from other folk.
At length they reached the temple on the hill and went
into the chamber where Aphrodite's priestesses and
maidens were to meet ; and they clad her in long white
robes, and put a garland on her head. When all were
ready, they went and stood before the priest of the temple,
and he told them in what order they should walk. First
came little children, who scattered rose-leaves in the
path, and behind them followed maidens, playing upon
pipes, and singing the hymn to Adonis and Aphrodite.
Next came the priest himself, and on either side of him
two maidens walked, and held above his head great fans
of peacock's plumes. After him followed the long pro-
cession of priestesses and maidens, incense-bearers, and
the keepers of the sacred doves. Last of all came Hero,
bearing in her hands a garland of roses and lilies to lay
at the feet of the great white statue of the goddess. Each
year the fairest of the maidens was chosen for this task,
107
children of the Dawn
and in all that throng of youth and beauty there was
none more fair than she. With her eyes upon the gleam-
ing statue that shone from the dark recess above the
heads of the worshipping people, she walked as one in a
dream. About her the smoke of the incense rose, and to
her ears the voices of the singers sounded low and far
away as they sang,
" All hail to thee, Aphrodite, foam-born Queen of Love !
Adonis, all hail to thee ! Thou art risen — thou art risen
on this joyful day. No more doth Death detain thee in
his dark domain, nor Persephone enshroud thee in the
mists of the sad Underworld. But thou art come back
to the daylight and the flowers ; and Aphrodite has
dried her tears. For once more by thy side, O fairest
of mortal men, she wanders through green glades and
echoing caverns and by the shore of the silver sea. The
joy of her love has kindled the light of summer suns, and
like the west wind in the roses, her breath stirs gently in
the hearts of men, and the eyes of every living thing
reflect the brightness of her smile. All hail to thee.
Aphrodite ! Adonis and Aphrodite, all hail !"
As they sang, the choir of maidens parted this way
and that, and Hero walked up between them bearing the
garland in her hands. When she had laid it at the feet of
the statue, the procession formed once more, and, with
music and singing, they marched round the colonnade to
the shrine of Adonis, and all the people followed after.
Still Hero walked as one in a dream, and when the pro-
cession halted, she turned into a small recess and leant
against a pillar to rest ; for her part was done, and the
people pressed so close about her in the aisle that she
io8
Hero and Leander
was glad to stand aside till the procession moved again.
With her eyes closed, she drank in the sweet scent of the
incense and flowers, and listened to the chanting of the
choir, as they sang of the love of Adonis and Aphrodite.
How Adonis, the beautiful shepherd, the fairest of mortal
men, was loved by the Queen of Beauty, and all the long
summer days they shepherded his flocks together on the
sliady slopes of Ida. But there came a time when the
people of the country held a great hunt, and chased the
wild boar through grove and dale till he was brought to
bay in the greenwood ; and foremost of those who rushed
in to the death was Adonis. But the boar in his agony
turned round upon him and pierced him in the thigh with
his tusk, and wounded unto death, his followers bore
him away and laid him in the shade of an oak. With a
wild cry of sorrow Aphrodite came and knelt beside him,
and tried to call him back to life, but his head fell limp
upon her breast. The red drops of his blood were mingled
with her tears, and both turned to flowers as they fell
upon the ground — his blood to the crimson rose, and her
tears to the pale, drooping windflower. All through the
woods and the echoing hills a cry of mourning was heard,
" Adonis, Adonis ! O weep for Adonis 1 Adonis is
dead." But though his spirit had crossed the gloomy
river and fled to the dark halls of Hades, yet Death was
not strong enough to hold him. The voice of his love
and of Aphrodite's pleaded together, and heaven and
earth, and the world of the dead, were moved by their
prayer. Even the heart of Pluto, the black-browed god
of Death, was touched, and he said that for only four
months in the yea'" mii-<^ -^donis dwell beneath the earth,
1 09
children of the Dawn
but for the other eight he might Hve his old hfe with
Aphrodite in the sunhght. So he chose tlie season of the
flowery spring-time to come back to his love each year,
and only the cold dark months of winter did he spend in
the land below. So did a great love prevail and conquer
even the black lord of Death.
As Hero listened to the well-known tale, her heart was
moved, and she felt that if ever she loved, her love would
be as the love of Adonis and Aphrodite — stronger than
death ; and she sighed as she remembered how she must
live lonely all her days in the tower by the sea.
As though in answer to her sigh, she felt a light touch
upon her arm, and, raising her head, she found herself
face to face with a young man. She was about to turn
away in anger and return to her place in the procession,
but the look of his eyes held her spellbound, so full of
fire and yet so sad were they. For a moment she stood
gazing at him, and the fire of his eyes seemed to light
another in her heart and set her whole frame aglow. The
hot blood rushed to her face, and she lowered her eyes in
confusion, and her limbs trembled beneath her, so that
she leant back against the pillar for support.
" I ask your pardon, gentle lady," said the man ; " for-
give my rudeness. Though thou knowest me not, I
have known thee for many a long year, and day and night
have I prayed the gods that I might meet thee face to
face. This day Aphrodite has heard my prayer. If I
have seemed presumptuous, forgive me. 'Twas the
goddess nerved my arm to touch thee."
And he stood with bowed head before her, awaiting her
reply.
no
she lowered her eyes in confusion, and her limbs trembled beneath her
so that she leant back ayainst the pillar for support
Hero and Leander
" Who art thou, stranger ?" asked Hero. " Thou mis*
(akest me, surely, for some other maid. Never till this
day have I set foot beyond my tower, and to that lonel}^
spot Cometh no man, nor have I ever spoken with such
as thee before."
" My name is Leander," said the stranger, " and I
dwell in white Abydos across the water. Full well do
I know thy lonely tower ; for as I ply to and fro between
Sestos and Abydos on my father's business, I pass close
beneatli its walls, and day by day have I seen thee sitting
at thy window looking out across the sea. Ah, lady,
be not angry with me ! The first day I saw thee thy
beauty set my heart aflame, and since then I have lived
for thee alone."
" Thy words stir me strangely, sir," answered Hero,
" I know not what to say to thee."
" Thou art not angry, then ?" he cried. " Thou wilt
let me speak my love ? Ah, maiden, all these years have
I loved thee with a true heart's devotion ! li my love
could find but ever so faint an answer in thy heart, I
would be content."
And he raised his eyes full of hope and joy to her face.
But she turned aside her head to hide the answering
fire of her eyes.
" Alas, sir !" she said, " mine is a heart that must never
beat for any living man. I am doomed to dwell in yonder
tower lonely all my days, for if I go forth and mix with
the world, I shall die by the curse of Heaven before my
time."
" I have heard thy tale, lady ; for even the most secret
things are noised abroad by rumour. Far be it from me
113 H
Children of the Dawn
to bring the curse upon thy head. If thou couldst give
me thy love, there would be no need for thee to come forth
into the world. I have thought of that. Each day we
would live our lives as we have done till now. But at
night, when none would miss me, I would come to thee.
No living soul should know my secret — no, nor yet the
lifeless boards of my boat ; for even dumb wood can tell
a tale if need be. Nay, these two arms shall bear me.
Look not fearful, lady. Full often have they borne me
to and fro across this narrow sea from mere love of sport.
With thee as the prize they would bear me twice as far."
As he spoke he held them out towards her, and, indeed,
they were goodly arms to look upon, and his face and
form did them no shame either.
Then Hero raised her eyes and looked him full in the face.
" Leander," she said, " I know not what charm or
magic thou hast used, but I am as clay in thy hands. 'Tis
not thy words have conquered me ; in thy reasoning I
could find many a flaw. Though one short hour ago I
had never seen thee, yet now I feel that I have known
thee always, and that life apart from thee were worse
than death."
" Ah, Hero !" he cried, and took her hand in his ;
" the gods have heard my prayer. Though thine eyes
had never seen me, the voice of my heart reached thee
long ago, and thy soul came out to mine. 'Twas in answer
to my call that thou didst come to-day to the feast ; for
I prayed to Aphrodite to move thy heart, or I knew not
how I should ever speak to thee. This very night,
beloved, I will come to thee, and the light which thou
burnest in thy chamber shall be my guiding star."
114
Hero and Leandcr
" Ah, how carefully will I trim that torch to-night !"
she said, " that it may burn brightly for thee. Every
evening I put it there as a beacon-light for the ships that
pass in the night ; but to-night it shall burn for thee — for
thee alone."
Now the service was ended before the shrine, and the
train of people began to move once more. With one
last look and a pressing of hands they parted, and Hero
returned to her place in the procession.
When all was ended, the old nurse hastened to the
robing-room. In the crowd inside the temple she had
lost sight of Hero, and her heart was full of fears for the
maiden. As she helped her to lay aside her festal robes
and garland, she gazed anxiously at her.
" Art thou content to come home with me, my child,"
she asked, " or has the glamour of the world ensnared
thee ?"
" Ah, nurse !" she cried joyously, " never, never have
I loved my tower so well. Let us hasten home, and in the
quiet of the evening I will tell thee that of which my
heart is full."
The old dame was glad when she found her so ready
to go home, and they hastened silently through the
crowded streets. As the sun was setting behind the hills,
and the shadows fell cool and long across the garden slopes,
Hero sat at her nurse's feet, and told her of the story of
Leander's love, and how that night would make them
man and wife. When she had ended her tale, the old
dame took her face between her hands and looked her in
the eyes.
" Hero," she said, " this thing can never be. I hav«
115 H 2
Children of the Dawn
failed in my trust. I have listened to thy pleading, and
let thee out into the world, and now through this man the
curse of the gods will be fulfilled. Think no more of
him. Let this day be to thee as though it had never
been, and thou mayst yet escape thy doom."
But Hero sprang to her feet.
" What !" she cried ; " thou wouldst take away the
only joy of my life now, when I have just found it ?
Never ! Curse or no curse, Leander shall be my wedded
husband. Ah, nurse !" she added, falling on her knees
once more, " methinks that over all the joys of life the
gods hang a curse, and that it lies not with us poor mortals
to choose between them. We must take both and live,
or neither and be dead all our days on earth. Thou canst
not hold me now ; I have chosen my lot."
Nothing that the old dame could say availed to change
her purpose, but with her heart full of joy she put on her
brightest robes and sat by the lighted torch in her chamber,
looking out across the sea, and waiting for the night.
True to his word, Leander came as soon as darkness fell,
and the old dame let him in by the turret door. Care-
fully she shaded her lamp with her hand so that the light
fell full upon his face, that she might see what manner of
man he was. He had dried himself as best he might
with leaves and grass from the garden, but his hair hung
in damp clusters about his head, and his tunic clui.g wet
about him. Yet, in spite of all, he was full fair to look
upon — a very god for strength and beauty. The old
dame was pleased when she saw him, for he had braved
danger and discomfort to win his bride, and he was a
proper man withal, and worthy of so fair a maid as Hero.
il6
Hero and Leander
So she led him upstairs and gave him change of raiment,
and when he was ready she took him to Hero's chamber.
There before the shrine of Aphrodite they pHghted their
troth, with but one faithful soul to witness their vows, and
the music of the wind and the waves for their marriage
hymn. To the two lovers the night fled by on wings of
lightning, and all too soon they had to say farewell ; for
ere day dawned Leander must have reached the further
shore. But parting was sweet sorrow for those who so
soon would meet again.
So for many a day their lives ran smoothly on. Each
night Hero lighted her torch ; each night Leander was
guided by its light, and, true to his word, swam across the
narrow sea that divided him from his wife. The colour
came back to Hero's cheeks and the brightness to her
eyes, and she pined no more to leave the tower and go
out into the world. When the old dame saw how happ^
she was, she was glad that things had fallen out so, and
prayed that for many a long year the gods would be
pleased to bless their wedded love.
Meantime Leander thought that no one knew of the
nightly voyage save Hero and the old dame her nurse,
yet^ for all his secrecy, there was one who each night
watched for him with a longing as great as Hero's own.
In the depths of the blue ^gean the daughters of Nereus
dwell — the fair nymphs of the ocean. All the day long
they play beneath the waters, and dance hand in hand
along the yellow sands and the shell-strewn hollows of
the sea. But at night, when the eyes of men are dark-
ened, they come up above the water and, cradled in the
bosom of the waves, swing gently to and fro in the soft
it;
Children of the Dawn
summer air; and the white gleam of their arms is the
gHnt of ripples in the moonlight. But when the wild
storm-wind shrieks over the sea and the skies are dark
and lowering, they forget their fears, and are filled with
madness. Then they chase each other across the black
waters with wild locks flying in the wind, and woe to those
who are out upon the high seas when the Nereids dance
in the storm, for their dance is the dance of Death. The
fire of the lightning runs hot in their veins as they fly on
the wings of the whirlwind, and wherever they go the
waves hiss white and angry behind them. On the crests
of the billows they rise and fall, and with the voice of the
storm-wind they shriek aloud, and call upon all things
to join in their dance ; and they leap on the decks of the
travailing ships, and man, woman, and child they clasp
in their cruel white arms, crying, " Come, dance with us
over the sea." With a force that none can withstand
they bear them away, and whirl them round in the dance
of Death, till they hang limp and lifeless in their arms.
Then they toss them aside, nothing caring, to be washed
ashore in the wan morning light, or to sink to a nameless
grave in the depths of the ocean. Wherever they have
passed wreck and ruin lie behind ; but they rush on, till
the storm dies away, and they sink down exhausted to
their home in the sea. Sometimes in the calm green
waters below they find the bodies of those they have
drowned in their frenzy, but they know them not ; for
all that they did when the spirit of the storm was upon
them they forget, and it passes from their minds as a
dream dies at break of day. So when they see the bodies
lying still and lifeless, they call to them to come and play
Ii8
Hero and Lcandcr
with them in the water, and when they get no answer, they
creep closer, and find that their eyes are closed. Then
they know that, however long they call, they will never
get an answer, for they have learnt that those whose eyes
are closed have neither life nor voice, but are as the rocks
and stones. But the Nereids know not sleep nor death,
and when they look upon one lying dead they think he
has always been so ; and they do not grieve nor weep for
him, for the gods did not make them for grief, but to
be the bringers of beauty wherever they go, and to turn
all foul things fair. So they gather the shells and the
bright seaweeds, and cover the body where it lies, and it
sleeps in beauty and peace in the hollows of the sea.
One of these same Nereids it was who saw Leander as
he swam across the Hellespont eacTi night, and she loved
him for his beauty, and longed to have him as her play-
fellow. So she swam near to him on the crest of the
dancing waves, and called to him softly,
" O child of the green earth, come, come with me, and play
with me and my sisters in the depths of the blue JEgea.n."
But he saw her not, nor listened to her pleading, for
his eyes were darkened. To him the gleam of her arms
was the moonshine on the water, and the sound of her
voice like the west wind on the waves.
So she followed him in vain across the channel, and
when he went up into the tower she sat below upon a
rock, and watched for him to appear at the window ;
and she saw Hero sitting by the torch waiting for her
lover, and heard her cry of joy as she ran to greet him
when he came. Then again she called to them softly,
" O children of the green earth, come and play with
119
children of the Dawn
me. I will crown your heads with white sea-pearls, and
you shall sit on coral thrones beneath the waves, and be
king and queen over all the nymphs of the sea."
But as they stood hand in hand at the window, they saw
her not, and heard only the murmur of the ripples on the
beach. So she sat calling in vain all the night long.
Before the grey morning dawned Leander came down,
and when he reached the shore he turned and called,
" Farewell, Hero !"
And Hero, leaning from her window, answered,
" Leander, farewell !"
So the sea-nymph learnt to know their names, and
every night she would sit sadly calling them, and they
heard her not.
But one night all the winds of heaven were loosed, and
they rushed with a wild shriek over the face of the waters,
and lashed them to a fury of white-maned waves. With
a deafening crash the thunder echoed through the hills,
and the pale forked lightning lit the sky from east to west.
With white cheeks and a heart full of fear. Hero knelt
before the shrine in her chamber, and prayed the gods
to have mercy on the sailors out at sea, and, above all, to
grant that Leander had not set out ere the storm began.
Meanwhile Leander on the other side had seen the
storm approaching, and he knew full well that when the
seas ran high no man could swim the channel and reach
the other shore alive. So he sat by his window and
longed for the storm to be spent and the day to dawn ;
for the night without Hero was to him but misery.
Across the stream he could see the torch burning fitfully
in the gale.
120
Hero and Leandcr
" The gods grant she think me not faithless," he said,
" for not going to her this night."
As he sat and watched, the storm grew wilder and more
terrible. In the swirling, seething waters the Nereid
danced with the madness of the tempest in her heart, up
and down over the crested waves, with the storm wind
whistling through her hair. In the gleam of the lightning-
flash she held out her arms to the shore and called,
" Come and dance with me. Leander, O Leander,
come !"
As she called, the east wind rushed with a wild shriek
across the water, and blew out the beacon light in Hero's
chamber. Leander at his window saw the pale light
disappear and return no more. A blinding flash of light-
ning rent the sky, and the rattle of the thunder sounded
as though the mountains of the earth were falling. Then
the spirit of the storm came upon him too, and he heard
the voice of the sea-nymph calling with a wild, un-
earthly shriek,
" Leander, O Leander, come !"
And he thought it was the voice of Hero calling him in
deadly peril. Perchance the thunderbolt had struck her
tower, and it had crashed in ruins about her and borne
her with its falling stones into the rushing stream below.
In a mad frenzy, scarce knowing what he did, he plunged
into the seething waters and struggled in the waves
with the strength of despair. With a wild cry of joy the
sea-nymph caught him in her arms. " At last, at last,
thou hast heard my call," she said.
Up and down through the hissing waves she bore him,
now plunging down, deep, deep, into the calm green
121
children of the Dawn
water below, now rushing round and round in a whirl-
pool, now leaping from the crest of one white wave into
the boiling foam of the next, till he lay limp and breath-
less in her arms. She heeded not, but bore him on,
ever on, across the water till they came beneath Hero's
tower. Then, rising on the crest of the waves that beat
against the wall, she called,
" Come, join with us in the storm-dance ! Come,
Hero, Hero !"
In the breath of the east wind the stinging foam beat
against the window like one knocking in wild alarm, and
the echo of the sea-nymph's cry reached the maiden as she
knelt before the shrine. Filled with terror, she rushed to
the window and looked down on the seething water. A
brilliant flash of lightning blazed across the sky, and for a
moment all was light as day. On the bosom of a breaking
wave she saw Leander with his arms tossed helpless about
him, and his head thrown back pale and lifeless, and above
him stood the sea-nymph in a robe of flashing foam. With
a cry of despair Hero leaped to the sill and plunged into
the roaring waves, and with her arms about Leander,
she, too, was tossed along in the dance of Death, till the
storm died away and the nymph bore them down side by
side to the floor of the blue .Egean. There, true to her
word, she set them on thrones of coral, and twined white
sea-pearls in their hair, and in time the winding seaweeds
and clinging ocean flowers wove a shroud of beauty about
them ; and their bodies slept side by side in the fair ocean
depths. So did it come to pass that the curse of the gods
was fulfilled.
But whether it was truly a curse or a blessing, who
122
Hero and Leander
shall say ? For they lived and loved with a love that has
become famous among men, and side by side they died.
And does not the poet tell us of the islands of the blest,
where the souls of the brave and true abide for ever ;
where the breeze blows always bright and fresh, and the
golden fruits are glowing, and the crimson-flowered
meadows before the city are full of the shade of trees of
frankincense ? In that far land there is no death nor
parting, no sorrow and no tears, but those who have been
true on earth dwell ever side by side. If the poet is right,
Hero and Leander are there together, where no storm can
reach them and no sea can part them ever again.
123
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
NCE upon a time when Pelias, the
crafty king, ruled in lolchos by
the sea, his nephew Jason came
and tried to win back from him
the land that was his by right.
But Pelias put him off with
cunning words, and sent him
forth to Colchis in search of the
Golden Fleece, thinking that so
he need never look upon his face
again. Jason, therefore, who was brave and stout of heart,
and feared not man nor beast, sent a proclamation through
the land, bidding all who loved adventure to join him in
the good ship Argo, and sail with him for the Golden
Fleece. From the length and breadth of Hellas the heroes
and sons of the Immortals flocked. Among them came
Admetus of Pherae, in the first bloom of his manhood ,
and sailing with the Argonauts, he braved all the terrors
of that fearful voyage, and sat at his oar like a man in
the midst of deadly peril.
After many a long day the remnant of the heroes
who had sailed away from lolchos returned with the
i24
The S a c r i f i c c of A 1 c e s t i s
Golden Fleece ; and standing before proud Pelias, they
laid it at his feet. In the great hall of the palace he
received them sitting on his throne : on his right hand
sat Philomache his wife, and all about him stood his
daughters, Peisidice and Asteropsea, Hippothoe, and
Evadne, and Alcestis — maidens whose beauty would
gladden any father's heart. But fairest of the fair, as
the moon among stars, was Alcestis. When Admetus
looked upon her face, his heart was filled with love for
her, and he swore a great oath that he would live and die
unwed, or else have Alcestis to wife.
When Pelias had welcomed back the Argonauts, he
bid the henchmen spread the tables in the hall, and soon
the king with his son Acastus and all the menfolk were
seated with the heroes round the well-filled board.
Against a pillar leant a minstrel, who sang of great deeds
and heroes, and how the good ship Argo had braved the
terrors of the seas ; while the daughters of Pelias bore round
the sweet dark wine in flagons, and filled up the golden
goblets. To Alcestis it fell to fill up the cup of Admetus,
and as he held it out towards her their eyes met, and she
blushed beneath his gaze, and tried to hide her confusion
in the folds of her veil. She was vexed with herself for
the blush and vexed with him for having called it forth.
Yet withal her heart beat fast, and the beating of it
was not altogether born of wrath ; for Admetus was a
proper man in the prime of life, who had sailed the
high seas and seen danger face to face, and a brave man's
admiration is ever dear to a woman's heart. So it came
to pass that when Admetus drew from his breast a lock
of the Golden Fleece, which Jason had given him for a
125
Children of the Dawn
memorial, and held it forth to her, she refused it not, but
took it and hid it in the folds of her gown, and when
Admetus was gone away she would draw it forth and
sigh as she looked at it.
When Admetus saw that she did not altogether disdain
him, he was glad at heart, and plucked up all his courage,
and went and stood before the king her father, and boldly
asked her hand in marriage. As he spoke the king's brow
darkened, for he loved not Jason nor any of his crew. He
had sent them forth, as he thought, to their death, and
now they were come home to wrest the kingdom from
him and give it to the lawful heir. So he cast about in
his mind for some excuse; for Admetus was nobly born,
and heir to a great kingdom, and he could not say him
nay without good reason. In his trouble he bethought
him of an ancient oracle which a soothsayer had spoken
when Alcestis lay a babe upon her mother's breast. Till
now he had put aside all thought of it, and had looked
upon the seer as a mad prophet whose words were of no
account. But now that they would serve him in his
need, he pretended that he had always laid them up in
his heart, and intended to abide by them.
" Young man," he said, " they who would woo my
child Alcestis must woo and win her as the gods have
ordered. When she lay in her mother's arms, there came
a prophet and stood over her and spake, saying, ' Child of
evil fortune ! whosoever thou weddest, woe to thy wedded
life, sobeit thy lord come not to bear thee away in a
chariot drawn by a lion and a boar.' Thus spake the
prophet of the gods, and his words shall surely come to
pass. Think not, then, that I will give my daughter up
126
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
to misery, or that thou hast but to look on her beauty
and long for her, to have her for thine own. Nay; hence,
away, and bethink thee how thou canst so beguile a
lion's heart that he shall walk tamely in the yoke beside
his lawful prey. Then, and then only, when thou comest
driving this strange pair shalt thou have Alcestis for thy
wife."
Admetus was sad at heart when he heard the king's
words, and he set out sorrowfully home for the halls of
Pheres, his father ; for he thought that this thing was
beyond the power of mortal man to do, and that all his
life long he must li\c in loneliness of soul, without Alcestis
to wife.
When they heard of their son's return, Pheres and
Periclymene, his wife, came forth to greet him, and fell
upon his neck and embraced him with tears of joy,
A great feast was prepared, and the altars of the gods
sent up to heaven the savoury smoke of sacrifice, and
all the people rejoiced together at the return of the hero
their land had sent forth.
After all the feasting and merrymaking was ended,
Pheres drew his son aside to his chamber and said,
" My son, whilst thou hast been away in strange lands
the hand of Time hath dealt heavily with me. My knees
are weak beneath me, my hair is white with age, and
all my strength is gone. Year by year it groweth harder
for me to ride forth among my people, and the folk on
the far boundary know my face no more, and I cannot
say whether all is well with them. Time is it for me to
give my crown and sceptre to a younger man, and thou
hast shown thyself worthy to rule. Take now the
127
Children of the Dawn
kingdom from my hand, that tliy mother and I may pass
our last years in peace together. A mighty kingdom
have I builded up for thee, and worthy of mighty kings.
See to it, then, that thou take to wife some princess of a
royal house and rear up a son to rule the land when thou
art dead."
And Admetus answered,
" The kingdom will I take from thee right gladly, my
father, and rule it well and wisely so long as the gods
shall give me strength. But as to taking a wife in my
halls, that I can never do."
Then he told him of his love for Alcestis, and how he
could never hope to win her. But his father laughed and
shook his head.
" 'Tis the way of hot-headed youth to think that in all
the wide world one woman alone hath a fair face and
bright eyes. Time and the beauty of another woman
shall heal thy malady, never fear."
" Time and another woman may drive me to my death,"
he answered hotly, " but never will I wed with any maid
save Alcestis alone, whom I love."
And he strode in anger from the room. But Pheres
laughed the louder.
" Verily, young blood is the same the whole world
through," said he.
So Admetus became King of Pherae, and ruled in his
father's stead ; and from the shores of the sea below
Pelion to the land of the Molossians, the mountain-folk
of the Far West, his name was held in honour among his
people ; for the land had peace in his day, and the valleys
stood thick with corn, and by the fair-flowing waters of
128
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
Boebc the shepherd phiyed his pipes, and his flocks wan-
dered browsing about the green meadows. No stranger
was ever turned away from the palace doors, but, how-
ever poor and ragged he might be, he was welcomed right
gladly, and feasted in the halls and sped upon his way
with kindly words. So it came to pass that through the
length and breadth of Hellas, when men spoke of good
cheer and hospitality, they always raised the cup in
honour of Admetus, the kindliest of hosts to rich and
poor alike.
II
One day as Admetus sat at meat in the great hall with
his parents and all the household, a thing befell which
changed the course of his whole life. Inside the fire burnt
brightly on the hearth, and the torches on the walls sent
a cheerful gleam through the shadowy vastness. But
outside the wind howled about the corners of the palace
like Furies in their wrath, and anon it sunk down to a sob
and a wail, while the lashing of the rain against the walls
was as the whip of a furious driver urging on his steeds.
And lo ! from out the darkness of the storm there came a
man, who stood in the doorway of the great hall and
looked round about upon the company. Many a long
mile must he have come that day in the teeth of the gale,
for from head to foot he was splashed with mud, and the
water ran from his ragged cloak in streamlets, making a
pool upon the floor. In his hand he carried a staff;
from a strap about his body hung a strange instrument
such as no man in the hall had ever seen before ; and he
held his head up proudly and looked fearlessly about him,
129 1
children of the Dawn
so that for all his sorry raiment he seemed no common
beggar, but a young king in all his pride. A hush fell
upon the people as they gazed, for his eyes shone strangely
bright, and in the darkness of the shadowy doorway his
stature seemed greater than that of mortal man. When
he had looked his fill and saw where Admetus sat, he
strode across the hall with great swinging strides, and
came and stood before him. As he walked the people
looked silently after him, for a great ship running before
the wind was not more fair than he.
" O king," he said, and his voice rang clear and mellow
through the hall, " a suppliant I stand before thee, and
my hand is red with blood. Say, wilt thou receive me
in thy halls, or wilt thou turn me forth into the storm and
darkness ?"
And Admetus marvelled at his words.
" Who art thou, stranger, to make this bold request ?
When a man's hand is stained with blood, 'tis to the
altars of the gods that he should fly for cleansing, and
not bring pollution to the palaces of kings."
" My name it behoveth thee not to know now, nor the
deed I have done. Let it suffice thee when I say that not
yet have the altars of that god been built who hath the
power to cleanse me from blood-guiltiness. Nay, myself
I must work out mine own cleansing, and for the waxing
and the waning of twelve moons it is decreed that I must
serve a mortal man. Wilt thou take me for thine herds-
man— yea or nay ?"
At this Admetus marvelled the more, and looked hard
in the face of the stranger, but his eyes fell beneath the
other's fearless gaze as those of a dog beneath his master's ;
130
I
The Sacrifice of Alccstis
and he answered him never a word, for he felt that the
thought of his heart lay writ beneath that piercing look
as clear as writing on a tablet. So he signed to his
attendants, and they led the stranger forth and bathed
him in warm water, and anointing him, clad him in
fresh sweet linen and a tunic of silk. When all was
accomplished, they led him back to the hall ; and if the
people had marvelled before at his beauty, their wonder
was increased twofold as they gazed at him now.
When he had taken his fill of meat and wine, the
stranger turned to Admetus and said,
" My noble host, fain would I, in some poor measure,
requite thee and thy household for kindness to a wan-
derer and a suppliant. I have some small skill in song,
and have fashioned me an instrument whereon I play
sweet harmonies, that frame the melody of my song like
the golden setting of a gem. Have I thy leave to sing
before thee in thy halls ?"
As Admetus bowed his head the stranger loosed the
curious instrument from his girdle. The body of it was the
hollow shell of a tortoise, in the rim of which two twisted
horns were cunningly fitted, joined together towards the
top by a silver band. The space between the band and
the furthermost edge of the shell was spanned by seven
strings of gold. Lovingly he drew his fingers across the
strings, and the chords rang soft and true through the
silence of the hall, as he played a prelude to his song,
and anon raised his voice and sang. He sang a strange,
sweet song, such as no man there had ever heard, and yet
in the depths of his soul each one of them felt that he had
known it before he was born. For the song that the
131 1 2
children of the Dawn
stranger sang was the song that the stars first sang
together when the universe was born, and Hght sprang
forth from the darkness. The melody they made that
day vibrates for ever till the end of time. Musicians
and artists and poets, and those whom the gods love, hear
it and sing it, each in his separate way, for those who
have forgotten the sound of it. Deep in the heart of
every man it lies voiceless, till once at least in his lifetime
the hand of the divine musician sets the chords vibrating,
and opens the ears of the soul to hear the heavenly har-
monics. Such was the song that the stranger sang, and
the people sat breathless beneath his spell, and gazing
deep into the red-hot heart of the fire, saw strange
dreams and visions. The very dogs awoke from their
sleep, and crept closer to the music, and with their heads
between their paws, gazed with unblinking eyes at the
singer ; and a magic thrill ran round the circle of them
that listened, both man and beast, and welded and fused
their souls in one, so that they felt that the life in them all
was the same. When the song was ended, silence fell
upon all things — even the storm outside had ceased to
rage ; and Time stood still as each man sat motionless in
his seat, with heart too full for speech. But at length the
spell was broken, and with a sigh and a whisper, they
glided away to their rest, till Admetus and the stranger
were left face to face before the hearth.
" O divine musician," said Admetus, " I know not
who thou art. This only do I know, that T could worship
thee for the godlike beauty of thy song, and follow thee
and serve thee all my days."
" Nay, O king ; 'tis destined that I must serve thee, and
132
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
be thy servant for a year. To-morrow I will lay aside
this silken doublet, and put on the dress that suits my
station, and go forth with the other shepherds of thy
flocks."
" O stranger, this thing can never be. Who am I
that thou sliouldst be my servant ?"
" Thou art the man who turneth not the stranger from
thy doors, though his hands, like mine, be red with blood.
As for me, I must work out my cleansing, as I told thee.
For blood-guiltiness is mine, though I have not sinned in
the shedding thereof. But even Zeus himself, thou
knowest, hath not reached wisdom and might, save by
sore struggle against powers less wise than he. Happy
am I if by the service of an upright man I may be
purified."
From that day forth the stranger became a herdsman
in the halls of Admetus, and in no wise would he be
treated differently from the other servants. Clad in the
coarse, rough homespun of a shepherd, he would go forth
at early dawn with the flocks, and at eventide return and
sit among his fellows at the lower table. The hearts of
all the household were warmed towards him, and it seemed
that in his presence no evil thing could live ; for if ever a
quarrel or strife of tongues arose, a look from the stranger
would take all the spirit from the combatants, and the
matter fell dead between them like a ball at the feet of
listless players — nay, it seemed that he could read the
very thoughts of their inmost hearts, and all malice and
unkindness withered away in the sunshine of his presence,
like sprigs that have no root. Strange tales were told
of how he shepherded his flocks, for the shepherd lads
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Children of the Dawn
who went forth with him at dawn would lie at his feet in
some shady grove whilst the flocks browsed close at hand ;
and he would take his lyre and sing to them of all things
in heaven and earth, and at the sound of his voice the
hearts of all living things were moved. From the rocky
heights of Othrys the lion came down and fawned at his
feet with bloodless fangs, and the spotted lynxes gambolled
with the flocks. The shy fawns forgot their fears and
left the shelter of the tall pine-woods, and danced about
his lyre with fairy feet ; for the magic of his singing made
the whole world kin, and the bow and the arrow were laid
aside in those days, and no watchman stood upon the
heights to guard the herds from beasts of prey. But the
flocks increased and multiplied, and the earth brought
forth rich harvests of corn and fruit, and all the land
had peace. So Admetus loved and honoured his strange
herdsman above all his fellows, and took counsel with
him, and followed his advice in all things.
HI
Meanwhile in lolchos by the sea the old king Pelias
had died. His son Acastus succeeded to his throne,
and, as the custom was, held great games in honour of his
father. Far and wide through Hellas he sent the news,
and bade all men of might come and take part in the con-
tests of running and wrestling and hurling the quoit
To the victors in each trial he offered to give one of his
sisters in marriage, but for Alcestis he made the contest
doubly hard, for she was the fairest and noblest of the
daughters of Pelias, and he knew tliat the suitors would
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The Sacrifice of Alcestis
flock without number for her hand if the task that was
set them was not well-nigh impossible. So he ordained
that he who would win her must prove himself the
mightiest of all men in the field that day, and that,
moreover, he must come to bear away his bride in a
chariot drawn by a lion and a boar ; for so the king, her
father, had ordered in obedience to the words of the
prophet.
When Admetus heard the news, the fire of his love
for Alcestis burst forth into flame, and he felt that he
could conquer the whole world to win her. When he
went to rest that night he could dream of nought but her,
and of how all men would marvel when they saw him
come to bear her away in a chariot drawn by a lion and
a boar. How he was to train this strange yoke-pair he
knew not, but he felt that Alcestis was not one whom the
gods had fated to live unwedded all her days. From the
length and breadth of Hellas men would flock to woo her,
and surely from all the host one would be found to do
this deed, and why should he not be that one ? So he
argued, and dreamed sweet dreams of love and happiness.
But, — whether it be that sweet dreams take the heart from
a man, because in sleep they put within his grasp visions
which, on waking, he finds to be but shadows of a shade,
and he longs to clasp them once again without the labour
and toil which alone on earth can bring man happiness, —
certain it is that when he awoke Admetus felt that the
task was hopeless, and that all his efforts would be vain.
His heart was in a tumult ; his longing for Alcestis was
as strong as ever, but the confidence of winning her
was gone. He went out into the woodland and threw
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children of the Dawn
himself on tlie grass beside the stream and gazed moodily
into the dark depths of a pool. Its silent stillness
so maddened him that he cast a pebble into the midst,
and watched it as it slowly sank, feeling that it was
an image of his own life. An hour or more he sat there
idly playing with the pebbles and the water, heavy
at heart, and a prey to morbid fancies. At length he
was roused from his dreaming by the sound of music far
away. Slowly it drew nearer, and from the shadow of
the trees came the strange herdsman playing on his lyre,
followed by his flocks and the wild creatures of the forest.
Without a word he came and sat beside Admetus at the
water's edge, and the animals lay grouped around. Then
he changed the key of his song from a merry dance-tune
to a solemn lay, and the burden of his song was love — how
love, if it were but strong and pure, could conquer the
whole world and accomplish deeds undreamt of. As
Admetus listened, the tumult of his heart was stilled,
and once again the flower of hope sprang up in his breast
— not the phantom flower that springs from idle dreams,
but the bright living flower whose roots are firmly planted
in the will to do and dare all things to win the promised
prize.
When the herdsman had ended his song, he laid aside
his lyre and gazed at Admetus.
" Dost thou love this maiden with all thy heart and
soul, Admetus ?" he asked.
" I would face the whole world to win her," said he.
" Wouldst thou lay down thy life for her ?"
" Why ask so poor a sacrifice ? My life without her
would be a thing of nought."
1.36
From the shadow of the trees came the strange herdsman, playing
on his lyre.
The Sacrifice oi Alcestis
Again the herdsman gazed at him, and seemed to read
his inmost souL
" In sooth, I verily beheve that, were death now to
face thee, thou wouldst gladly die for her. Go forth, then,
and win thy bride, and I will help thee all I can. If thou
fulfil the first part of the test, I will see to it that thou
fail not in the second."
" Master," cried Admetus, " what meanest thou ?"
" Go thou and enter the lists for Alcestis, and show
thyself the best man in the field that day. When they
hail thee victor, and bid thee come to fetch away thy
bride, as her father willed, answer boldly that the next
day at noon thou wilt come in a chariot drawn by a lion
and a boar to bear her away to thine own land. Then do
thou hasten alone to the wood that lies on the road to
Pherae, five miles from lolchos, and there, by the temple
of Hecate, wilt thou find me and the chariot ready
harnessed. Believest thou that I can do this thing ?"
" O master, do I not see before me the lion lying tamely
by the sheep and the wolf by the side of the lamb ? How
can I doubt thy power ?"
" So be it, then. One word of counsel would I give
thee : in the day of thy triumph forget not the gods."
" From my youth upwards have I honoured the gods,
0 stranger. How, then, in the day of my triumph, should
1 forget them ?"
" May they deliver thee in the hour of thy wealth,
Admetus, and save thee from blindness and hardness of
heart ! Above all, when thou art coming home with thy
bride, beware lest in thy haste thou pass by the altar
of Hecate without the tribute of a prayer. Mighty is
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children of the Dawn
the goddess, and in her hands are Hfe and death. The
sun with his glad warm rays shines down upon the
bosom of the earth, and draws forth the young corn from
her breast, and with loving hand he paints the purple
bloom of the grape. But when summer skies are cloud-
less, and the breath of the breeze smites hot upon the land,
men pray for rain and the cooling veil of mists to hide the
parched and thirsty fields from the cruel shafts of his rays.
Even so is the might of Hecate ; in one hand she hath a
blessing, in the other a curse. She may stand beside thy
wife in the hour of her need, and bring thy children with
joy into the world (for the life of all young things she
loveth); or if she be slighted, she can blast the parent-
stock ere it hath time to bear fruit, and cut off the fair
promise of the race."
" Surely, I will not forget her," said Admetus.
" An hour before noon, then, on the day after the con-
test of the suitors, I will await thee in the wood. May the
gods speed thee in thy trial !"
IV
On the day before the games were to be held Alcestis
went on to the roof of the palace, and looked down
upon the great courtyard below. All was bustle and
confusion. The bronze gates stood wide upon their
hinges, and a stream of people passed to and fro. The
chariots of the suitors thundered across the pavement.
Through the colonnades re-echoed the clattering of
horses' hoofs and the clanging of harness chains, and from
his post at the gateway the warder shouted his orders to
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Tlie Sacrifice of Alccstis
the pages and attendants. Far out across the country
Alcestis gazed and traced the white roadway where it
wound over the bosom of the plain. He for whom she
was looking had not entered the courtyard, and she
strained her eyes to see whether, among all the folk who
were wending their way towards the city, she could find
him. But the palace stood high upon the hill, with the
houses of the town nestling below, and the folk upon the
road were like flies, so small and black they seemed upon
the dusty highway. Many a long hour she watched upon
the roof, and still he came not. At length the sun went
down behind the mountains in a glory of crimson and
gold, and the purple hills cast their shadow across the
silent plain. Then Alcestis laid her head upon her arm,
and great tears stole through her fingers, and fell upon the
cold stone parapet.
" Ah me, the gods are cruel !" she sobbed. " They
have planted the seed of love within my heart, and now
they would have me tear it out. Hard is a woman's lot.
In bitterness of soul she sits within, whilst out in the great
world men fight for her beauty, as though she were some
painted image or lifeless weight of gold. On the slipping
of a foot or the cast of a die her fate may rest for weal or
woe, and the happiness of her life hang upon the issue of
a moment."
Then she felt in her bosom for the lock of the Golden
Fleece which Admetus had given her, and drew it forth
and kissed it.
" Alas, he has forgotten me ! He is a great king now,
and thinks no more of the maiden in whose eyes he looked
when he first came back from his voyage."
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children of the Dawn
Sadly she put the lock back in her bosom, and turned
and went down the turret-stair. It was close upon the
hour when all the suitors were to be feasted in the great
hall, and with her sisters she was to sing the paean song
at the pouring of the third libation. Full often had she
sung it in her father's halls ; for only unwedded maidens,
pure and innocent of soul, might sing it, and ask for
blessings on their home and kindred, and return thanks
to great Zeus, the saviour, for the gladness of a well-filled
board and the happy faces of friends and kinsfolk round
the hearth. Her heart was heavy within her when she
thought that now for the last time this task would be
hers, and that only one more sun would set before she
would be far away in a strange land, the wife of a man
whose very name she knew not yet. Her one hope lay
in the words of the prophet and the will of her father,
that she should wed that man only who could come to
bear her away in a chariot drawn by a lion and a boar ;
and from the depths of her soul she prayed that all might
find the task impossible.
" Better to die a maiden," she thought, " than to be
the prize of a man I do not love."
As she reached the bottom of the stair she heard her
sisters calling.
" Alcestis, Alcestis, where art thou ? The feast is well-
nigh finished, and all men wait for us to sing the pa^an
song. Tarry no longer, but hasten and come."
" I come, I come," she answered. " Yet the song of
joy upon my lips will echo like a dirge through the
chambers of my soul."
And the sisters marvelled at her, and shook their heads,
142
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
" She hath always wayward fancies," they whispered,
" and is different from other folk."
Their hearts were a-flutter with hope and joy, for on
the morrow they would each one be wedded to a brave
man, and go to a strange new land, and be queens in their
own palaces. So they took no heed of her words, but
tripped along the galleries with joyful feet, and took their
places in the crowded hall. After them came Alcestis.
Slowly, and with sad, unseeing eyes, she took her seat
beside them.
Meanwhile Admetus had tarried alone outside the city
walls. He had sent his servants before him with his
chariot and his gear to secure a stabling for his horses
and a sleeping-place for himself in the crowded alcoves
of the king's palace. But his soul longed for peace and
quiet, and he felt he could not face the noisy crown before
it was needful. Time enough if he slipped into the great
hall when the company was gathering for the feast.
Only then might he hope to see Alcestis. So he turned
aside into the quiet fields and wandered by the winding
stream. Behind him the dust rose in white clouds from
the high-road as the chariots of the suitors thundered up
towards the palace, and Admetus knew that many a
brave and mighty hero would stand against him on the
morrow. Yet hope burned high in his heart, and he felt
that his love for Alcestis was a power which his rivals
lacked — a power which would nerve his arm and give him
the strength of ten. The desire of his heart went up to
the throne of Zeus like the breath of a good man's prayer ;
and Zeus heard the cry of his soul, and into his veins he
poured of that fire which runs in the veins of the Im-
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Children of the Dawn
mortals. On earth men know not what to call it, and
they name it with many names — inspiration, genius, and
the spirit of prophecy, or, when it works too far beyond
their understanding, they call it madness.
As the sun was sinking low in the sky, Admetus turned
up the steep roadway to the palace. In the courtyard
he found his servants, and they brought him water to
wash with, and a change of raiment, and clothed him as
befitted one who had come to woo a fair princess. As
the shades of evening fell he entered the great hall, and
mingled with the company, and when the tables were
spread, he took his seat among the rest. But when his
neighbour spoke to him, he would answer at random, and
ever his eye wandered restlessly up and down the hall to
find Alcestis. Now the feast drew to its close, and yet no
womenfolk appeared. At last one of the serving-men
drew aside the great curtain that hung across the door-
way, and as the daughters of Pelias entered Admetus felt
his heart leap in his bosom, and he leant eagerly across
the table. The moments that passed before Alcestis
came seemed eternity, and when at length she entered,
her eyes were cast upon the floor, and she saw him not.
But when she had taken her seat, the silent voice of his
soul sped across the great hall, and found an echo in her
heart, and she raised her eyes and looked at him, and for
one moment they two were alone in that crowded place.
And now the wine was mixed, and each man held out
his cup for the pouring of the third libation. Then
Alcestis rose from her seat, and her sisters played a pre-
lude on their pipes. When the prelude was ended she
raised her voice and sang.
144
Tlic Sacrifice of Alccstis
'' O all-bestowing Zeus, Father Almighty, for the
mercies thou hast showered upon us, for the evil thou
hast warded off, lo, with thankful hearts we make libation
of the sweet dark wine ! O friend of the stranger, who
searchest out the secrets of men's hearts, midst the whirl-
wind rush of the chariots and the dust of the wrestling-
ring, stand thou beside the brave man and the true !
Make firm his axle-pin, and the earth beneath him sure,
and chain blind Fortune's hands. So shall the prize fall
to the most valiant. To those whose lives must be
moulded by another's will, grant thou patience and an
understanding soul, O Lord, and may the desire of their
heart be according to thy will. O father of gods and
men, cloud-enthroned, who ridest on the wings of the
whirlwind, joy and sorrow by thee are blended into one
harmonious whole. By the sunshine of thy mercy, by
the scorching fire of thy wrath, open thou the blinded eyes
of men to see the glory of thy works. All hail to thee,
saviour and king most high 1"
As she sang the people marvelled, for her voice was as
the voice of some priestess of the gods filled with the
breath of heaven.
When the feast was ended, the pages took down the
torches from the walls, and led forth the guests to the
shadowy alcoves where each man's couch was laid, and
there was silence in the halls. On noiseless wings Sleep
glided through the palace, and stood by each man's side.
With gentle hands she soothed his weary limbs, and
put fresh courage in his heart for the contest of the
morrow. But when she came to Alcestis she found her
gazing out upon the starlit sky.
145 K
children of the Dawn
"' My daughter," she said, " come to my arms and lay
thy head upon my breast, and I will ease the trouble of
thine heart."
" Ah, sweet Sleep, not to-night," Alcestis answered,
" for with Zeus a mortal's fervent prayer availeth much.
I cannot stand beside Admetus in the lists, but at least
he shall not fail for want of a true heart's prayer to-
night."
So Sleep passed her by, and till the briglit-haired dawn
shone out in the east Alcestis sat by the open window.
When it was light she went to rouse her sisters, for
early in the morning they were to lead the procession of
the maidens to the temples of the gods and lay wreaths
and garlands before the shrines, while the men-folk
gathered in the plain to watch the contest of the suitors.
Now once more there was bustle and confusion in the
city, and the streets were thronged with eager folk
hurrying to the lists. Ever and anon there was a shout,
and the crowd parted this way and that, like the earth
before a ploughshare, as a chariot thundered over the
stones bearing some proud suitor to the games. Last of
all, when everything was ready, came the king, Acastus,
and took his seat beneath a canopy, and the people rose
as one man, and greeted him with cheers. Then came a
herald, and blew a call upon his trumpet, and one by one
the suitors marched up and stood before the king, and
with a loud voice the herald proclaimed each man's name
and station and the contest he would enter for that day.
Truly it was a goodly sight to see them marching past,
strong men all, in the prime of life. Broad were their
shoulders, and their limbs were straight and brown, and
146
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
the rhythm of their marching was Hke the swell of the
sea. Never since the day when all the heroes gathered
at the call of Jason for the search of the Golden Fleece
had there been such a goodly concourse of men in fair
folchos. From all the wide plain of Thessaly they
flocked, from hill-girt Attica and the Spartan lowlands,
from Argolis and the green valleys of Arcadia, and from
the isles of the sea.
All the day long the people sat and watched the games,
and ever and anon a shout went up to heaven when a
strong man overthrew his adversary, or one swift of foot
passed the others in the last lap of the race. There was
hurling of quoits, and leaping and wrestling, and beneath
the feet of the boxers the earth was trampled hard. Far
away across the plain the chariots flew, and the people
shaded their eyes with their hands, and strained to see
which was foremost. But the dust rose in clouds about
the horses' breasts, so that till they were close at hand no
man could say who was leading.
At last the great day drew to a close, and once more the
herald stood before the king and blew a call upon his
trumpet. Each in turn the victorious suitors came for-
ward, and when the herald had proclaimed his name and
the contest he had won, the king placed a crown of leaves
upon his head, and told him which of the daughters of
Pelias was to be his bride. Brave men were they all, and
bravely had they fought that day, but mightiest among
the mighty had been Admetus of Pherae. Last of all the
victors, the herald called his name, and he came and
stood before the throne ; and the king placed the crown
of leaves upon his head and said,
147 K 2
children of the Dawn
"In token that thou hast proved thyself the mightiest
in the field, I place this garland on thine head, Admetus.
Verily, the gods have stood upon thy side and filled thee
with the fire of heaven, so that the strength of thine
adversary was turned to weakness before thy might.
May they grant thee, in like way, to fulfil the last part of
the task ; for, of a truth, it would grieve me to see one so
mighty depart without a prize."
Then Admetus answered boldly,
" But one more sun shall set, O king, before Alcestis
shall be my bride. To-morrow at noon will I come to
bear her away in a chariot drawn by a lion and a boar."
And those who heard him marvelled at his confidence.
V
The next day towards noon the king came forth and
sat upon a throne in the portico before the palace, and
all the nobles and suitors stood round about and waited
to see if Admetus would fulfil his word. As the sun stood
high in the heavens there fell upon his ears a sound like
the moaning of the sea far away when a storm is at hand.
Louder and louder it grew, drawing nearer every mo-
ment, till at length, like the break of a mighty wave, a
host of cheering citizens surged through the great bronze
gates. Into the wide courtyard they poured, and then
stood back upon either side, and, up the alley in the
midst, drove Admetus in a chaiiot drawn by a lion and
a boar. Straight across the court he came, and, like
well-trained steeds, the beasts looked neither to right nor
left, nor heeded the cheers of the people. With a jingling
148
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
of bells and the rattle of harness-chains, they trotted be
tween the ranks, and came and stood before the king.
" I have kept my word, O king, and have come to bear
away my bride, as the prophet of the gods ordained."
Then the king rose up and greeted Admetus.
" Right glad am I to see thee, Admetus," he cried,
" and right glad that my sister shall be thy bride. May
the gods bless thy wedded life, even as they have blessed
thy suit this day !"
Thereupon the pages threw open the palace doors, and
a chorus of maidens came forth playing upon pipes, and
singing a marriage hymn. Last of all came Alcestis, clad
in the saffron robes of a bride, and to Admetus she seemed
like the sun heralded by the stars of dawn. Gently he
took her hand and raised her into the car, and the people
piled rich tapestries and vessels of gold and silver beside
them for gifts of marriage. With a shouting and waving of
hands the chariot passed once more across the court and
down through the echoing streets, till at length they two
were alone upon the white highway. The joy that was
born of their hearts threw a magic light on all the land.
The green grass waved in the meadows, the leaves
danced gaily on the trees, and from tlie thickets and
bushes the birds sang songs of gladness. On and on they
drove, as in a dream, heeding neither time nor distance.
The glare of the dusty highway changed to the shade of
the woodland path, with green arches overhead, and a
murmur of dancing streams. Before the shrine of Hecate
a shepherd had placed his offering, and was standing with
his hands held high in prayer. But Admetus heeded
neither shepherd nor shrine, nor remembered when last
149
children of the Dawn
he had stood there and taken his strange team from his
herdsman. .Without a thought he passed the altar by.
As the gleaming chariot grew dim in the distance, the
shepherd turned and watched it, till the curve of the road
hid it from sight. Even then he stood and listened to
the jingling of the bells, as though he thought that still it
might turn back. But the bells grew fainter and fainter,
till he heard but a tinkle now and again borne back on the
wings of the wind, and at last he could hear that no more.
Sadly he turned back, and stood again before the shrine
with outstretched hands, then silently disappeared into
the depths of the wood.
On went the two till the shades of night began to fall,
and one by one the stars came out in the sky. Now they
drew near to Pher^e. High up upon the hill the palace
gleamed bright with many a torch, for messengers had
gone before to say that Admetus was coming with his
bride, and all the folk had gathered together to greet
him on his return. As they entered the city gates
choruses of men and maidens came forth to meet them,
and up the steep hill the glad procession wound, with
the singing of hymns and playing of pipes. When they
reached the palace gates the maidens raised Alcestis in
their arms, and bore her over the brazen threshold, that
no evil omen might befall her as she entered her new home.
Long and merry was the marriage-feast, and ere it was
over the night was far spent. But at length the last
libation had been poured, the last cup had passed round
the board, and the maidens stood waiting to take Alcestis
to the marriage chamber. So she rose and went with
them, and they decked her in the robes in which for the
150
Admetus heeded neither shepherd nor shrine. . .
thouglit he passed the altar by.
Without a
The Sacriticc of Alccstis
first time a young bride greets her lord. When all was
ready, they took down the torches from the walls, and left
her. Outside the door they formed in chorus to sing the
love-song till Admetus should come to his bride.
Not long did they wait. With eager steps he came and
drew aside the curtain from the doorway. In the middle o-*
the chamber stood Alcestis, and never had she looked more
fair. As the sweet notes of the love-song stole softly
through the door, she held out her arms to Admetus. Her
hair fell in a cloud about her shoulders, and her white
robe touched the floor. From the casement the pale
moonbeams fell slanting down, and cast about her a halo
of light. With the silver shimmer of her hair and the
gleam of her outstretched arms, she seemed to Admetus a
messenger of the gods come down by the ladder of light.
With a cry of joy he stepped towards her. As he did so
a terrible thing befell. Between him and his bride there
rose up two huge serpents, and as he rushed towards them
they circled Alcestis about in their gleaming coils. The
nearer he drew the more closely did they clasp her, and
their forked tongues flashed like lightning about her
head.
" Back, back !" she gasped, " or they will strangle me."
Unconsciously he fell back. As he did so the great
beasts relaxed their grip, and fell down in shining coils
upon the floor ; but their heads waved to and fro above
the ground, and when once more he took a step forward,
they rose up again about her with an angry hiss.
" Oh, leave me, leave me !" cried Alcestis. " Tho gods
are angry, and will not let thee touch me. Fight not
against their will, or the serpents will slay me."
133
Clilldren of" the Dawn
" Nay, with these hands will I strangle them," cried
Admetus.
Again he rushed forward, and again, before he could
cross the room, the monsters had wound themselves about
Alcestis with a clasp of iron, so that she could scarcely
breathe. Just in time Admetus drew back, or they would
have squeezed the life from her. With a groan he turned
and fled from the room, and the love-song changed to a
shriek of terror as the maidens scattered this way and
that before him. With head bowed down and wide eyes
full of horror, he staggered on like a drunken man, and
disappeared into the darkness of the silent hall. In terror
the maidens clung together, with whisperings like the
twitter of frightened birds. At length one more bold
than her companions drew aside the curtain from the door
and looked into the chamber. Full in the path of the
moonbeams Alcestis lay stretched upon the floor. Her
eyes were closed, and her face was pale as with the
paleness of death. Yet there seemed nothing in the room
that should have caused her to swoon away. The maiden
called to her companions, and together they lifted Alcestis
upon the couch, and ministered to her, till at length she
opened her eyes.
Admetus meanwhile had rushed through the deserted
hall and out into the moonlit court. All was quiet, save
for one solitary figure, who walked up and down in the
shadow of the colonnade. As Admetus staggered across
the court, the man came out and stood across his path.
" Whither goest thou, O king ?" he asked.
Raising his eyes, Admetus found himself face to face
with his strange herdsman.
154
1 he Sacrifice of Alcestis
" My head burns from feasting in the crowded hall,"
he said, " and I am come out to get the cool night air."
The herdsman answered him never a word, but gazed
at him with his strange piercing eyes. And Admetus
glanced this way and that, but could not meet that
steadfast look.
" Why do the gods torment me ?" he cried hotly,
" What have I done that I should be tortured on my
bridal night ?"
" Nay, think rather what thou hast left undone."
" Left undone ?" cried Admetus, and pointed to the
altar in the centre of the court. " Seest thou not the
fire still red from the burning of the sacrifice ? Not here
only, but throughout the whole city, do they steam with
the savoury smoke."
" Altars may steam while hearts are cold, Admetus.
One fervent prayer before the solitary shrine availeth
more than hecatombs of oxen slain without a thought.
Did I not stand before thee in the path this day and lift
my hands in prayer to Hecate ? But with unseeing eyes
didst thou pass me by, and the goddess is wroth at thy
neglect, and her anger standeth between thee and thy
bride."
And Admetus stood with eyes downcast before him, and
had never a word to say.
" Yet because I love thee I will help thee once again,"
the herdsman said. " Go back upon thy road and offer
now thy prayers. I too will intercede for thee, and
methinks that the voice of my pleadings she will not
disdain."
Slowly and sorrowfully did Admetus return along the
155
Children of the Dawn
road he had travelled with so light a heart before. For
three days and three nights he was not seen within the
palace, and for three days and three nights Alcestis lay
tossing to and fro upon her bed, with wild words upon her
lips, and before her eyes fearful shapes that she alone
could see. On the fourth day Admetus came slowly up
the hill. The dust of the highway clung white about his
clothes, and the sweat of weariness stood out upon his
brow. Yet straightway he came and stood beside
Alcestis, and took her hand ia his. Then she opened her
eyes and looked at him, and for the first time since her
marriage night she looked on a face with eyes that could
see. The fearful shapes and visions fled away, and she
smiled at him with tears of joy. Then Admetus knew
that his prayers had not been vain, and that Hecate
had heard his cry, and given him back his wife.
vr
Quickly the days and nights sped by, and the palace
was full of joy and happiness. At last the season came
round that had brought the strange herdsman to Ad-
metus the year before. On the selfsame day of the
month he came and stood once more before him.
" Twelve moons have waxed and waned, O king," he
said, " since the day when first thou gavest me shelter
in thy Imlls. The time of my cleansing is accomplished,
and I am come to bid thee farewell."
" Farewell ?" cried Admetus. " That is a bitter word
in mine ears. Fain would I have thee with me always.
Yet have I no heart to beg thee to remain, for thou art
156
The Sacrifice of Alccstis
mightier than I, and even to caH thee guest and friend
would sound presumptuous in mine ears. Farewell,
then. May the gods reward thee tenfold for the blessings
thou hast showered upon my house !"
" When first I stood within thy halls thou didst say to
me, ' Stranger, who art thou, and whose blood is on thy
hands ?' Dost thou not ask me that question now once
more ere we part ?"
" Master, I asked it then in ignorance of thee and of
thy ways. To-day it lieth with thee to tell me or not as
thou wiliest. If thou wouldst hide thy name from me
still, I am content."
" Nay, I will tell thee, for 'tis meet thou shouldst
know. The fame of the deed I wrought has spread far
and wide throughout the world wherever men speak
with awe the name of Delphi, Thou knowest how in
the beginning Earth held the sacred shrine, and gave
forth, from the mouth of her priestess, dark and dreadful
oracles, and Chaos and Night had their seats there, and
the wingless foul Furies, the trackers of blood. Round
about the awful spot the mountains re-echoed the voice
of lamentation and the cries of human victims led forth
to sacrifice ; and lest at any time one strong of arm and
stout of heart should come to wrest away the shrine from
the powers of darkness, there lay before the gates a
guardian fierce and terrible — Python, the sleepless dragon.
In and out and round about the portals he wound his
monstrous length, and his scales threw back the light
like points of flashing steel, and his eyes were like the
red-tongued flame. No man in those days could pass
that dreadful portal, but, like a dim, uncertain echo, the
157
children of the Dawn
voice of the priestess floated down to the trembhng folk
below. At last one day there came a shining one whose
sword was the sunlight, and his arrows were darts of
living fire. With the strength of his right arm he slew
the Python, and stretched out his monstrous coils be-
neath the hot sun's rays, till the flesh melted and rotted
away, and only his bones lay gleaming white upon the
rocks, to show how once he had guarded the shrine against
all comers ; and the victor took the shrine and made it
his own, and placed his priestess there to utter forth true
oracles to men when the divine spirit filled her breast.
The waters of the Castalian spring he purified, so that
those who came might wash away their guilt, and stand
with pure hearts before the shrine. And over the
green lawns beneath Parnassus he led the choir of the
Muses, the bright-haired sisters of poetry, and music, and
dancing. Because their feet have touched the earth
where Castalia has its fount, men say that those who
drink of those waters are filled with their spirit, so that
the words that they speak and the songs that they sing
are immortal, and will live for ever upon the lips and in
the hearts of men. He who did this thing and turned
the darkness into light stands here before thee now."
" Apollo !" cried Admetus, " lord and master !" And
he fell upon the ground before him, and clasped him by
the knees. " Ah, forgive the blindness and presumption
of my heart !" he begged.
" Nay, there is nought to forgive. They that shed
blood must pay the price — yea, though it be the blood of
a monster rightfully poured out upon the ground. Light
was the cost of my purification, for thou art a kind
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The Sacrifice of Alcestis
master and an honourable man. But now my hands are
clean, I go back to my seat on fair Olympus, where high
above the clouds the deathless gods dwell evermore in
the clear, bright light of heaven. Yet do I love thee,
and will not forget thee. When the shadow of despair
falls dark across thy path, call on me, and I will help thee."
So saying, he bent forward and look Admctus by the
hand, and raised him up. Once more that piercing glance
burned through to his very soul ; then the stranger turned
and strode away across the palace court. Like one
changed to marble Admetus stood and watched him go.
Then with a start he rushed to the gateway, and looked
eagerly down the road. But though he shaded and
strained his eyes, he could see that familiar form no more.
Only far away on the dim horizon the veil of clouds which
hung about Olympus melted away beneath the sun's
bright rays, and the snow-clad peak flashed clear and
sparkling as a crystal against the summer sky.
" Lo, even dread Olympus smiles a welcome to the
god of Light and Truth !" said Admetus.
Then with a sigh he turned back into the palace.
VII
For ten long years Admetus and Alcestis ruled in
Pherae, and the gods gave them joy and happiness and
two children to bless their wedded love. And when Ad-
metus looked back to the days of the past, he was well
pleased with the story of his life. Had he not held an
oar in the good ship Argo, whose fame had reached to the
uttermost parts of the earth ? By the strength of his
159
Children of the Dawn
arm he had won to wife the fairest maid in Thessaly, and
brought her home behind a pair such as no man before or
since had dared to yoke together. Moreover, through
the length and breadth of Hellas his house was famous
as the home of hospitality and good cheer. Not men
alone, but great Apollo, the bright-haired god of Light,
had been his guest — nay, his very servant. Was he not
king, too, of a rich and fruitful land, in which year by
year the eartli brouglit forth plenteous harvests, because
the greatness of his name held back the tide of war, and
peace with unfettered feet walked joyously through field
and city ? When he remembered all these things, his
heart waxed big with vanity and pride, and he began to
forget the gods and to look down upon his fellow-men,
and think that he alone of all mankind had done great
deeds, and that without him the world would be but a
sorry place. This pride it was that made him do a mean
thing that marred all the glory of his life.
One day Death came and stood beside him, and put
his seal upon his brow, and Admetus knew that he must
die. When he felt that now he stood upon the threshold
of Hades, the dim dark world of the dead, where high
and low, rich and poor, strong and weak, wander for ever
as voiceless shades through the sunless groves, where
kingship and slavery are one, his heart was turned to
water, and his spirit called aloud in his anguish,
" Apollo, O Apollo ! Hear me in my sore distress, and
deliver me from death."
Far away on the sunlit peak of Olympus Apollo herard
his crv, and swift as the lightning crosses the sky he came
and stood beside him.
i6o
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
" What wouldst thou with me, Admetus ?" he asked
" I have come in answer to thy prayer."
Then Admetus raised his head, and pointed to his brow,
and Apollo gazed sadly at him. " I see the seal upon thy
brow, my friend — the seal that none may break."
" Ah, say not that, my lord ! Am I not e\'en now in
the prime of my manhood, when others look forward to
many a long year of joyous life ? Why should I die
before my time ? My mother and my aged father still
live, and rejoice in the sunlight, yet no kingdom standeth
by the might of their right arm. The meanest slave
within my palace is more fortunate than I. Why, out of
them all, hath Death laid his hand on me ?"
" He is but the servant of the Fates, Admetus, whose
ways neither gods nor men can understand."
" The Fates ? Are they lower than the beasts, then,
and will not listen to the voice of reason ?"
" The voice of man's reason is to them as the baying
of jackals in the wilderness, Admetus."
" O god of Light, is there nothing that will touch their
hearts ? Canst thou by thy music turn the souls of man
and beast, and soothe the fury of the whirlwind and the
crying of the rain, and yet over them alone hast thou no
power ? Ah ! by the love thou once didst bear me, go,
strike thy lyre before them, and sing thy song of magic.
Surely they will not withstand thee, but will put my life
into thy hands in return for the beauty of thy song."
" Because I love thee I will go, Admetus. Yet, if I
go, it is because they call me ; and if I prevail, or if I fail,
it is because they have willed it long ago. Farewell."
So Apollo sped away on the wings of the wind, far, far
i6i L
children of the Dawn
away beyond earth's widest bounds, beyond the region
ot unmelting snow and the land of the midnight sun,
beyond the ever-rolhng stream of ocean and the deserts
of the air, till he came to the unchanging land where the
three Great Sisters dwell together, without beginning
and without end. In that land there is neither north
nor south, cast nor west. There is neither sun nor
moon, night nor day, time nor change. On three
great thrones of mist the mighty Sisters sit, and their
forms are neither foul nor fair. On their brows arc
crowns of sovereignty, and in their hands the destinies of
man, which they sit spinning, for ever spinning, into the
mighty web of Life. The first is Lachesis the Chooser.
From the tangled mass beside her she picks out threads
of varied hue and hands them to Clotho the Spinner,
who weaves them into the web upon her knees. On the
other side sits Atropos the Unswerving One. In her
hands she holds a pair of shears, and as the ends of the
threads hang loose on the wTong side of the web, she cuts
them off and casts them at her feet.
So Apollo came and stood before them with his lyre
in his hand. Softly he touched the golden strings, then
raised his voice and sang. At the sound of that magic
song Lachesis forgot to hand the threads to her sister,
the web dropped low on Clotho's knee, and the hand of
Atropos fell lifeless by her side, and till the ending of the
song Time itself stood still. While the magic of his sing-
ing held them spellbound Apollo urged his plea.
" Almighty Sisters, from the ends of the world have I
come, from the haunts of mortal man, to ask a boon for
one I love."
162
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
" Say on, Apollo. Thou liast turned our hearts to
water by the magic of thy song. What wilt thou ?"
" In the fertile land of PhercC, Admetus lies a-dying.
He is young, and the love of life runs hot within his veins.
He is a great king, too, and rules his subjects well and
wisely, and loud will be the wail of the people if he must
die before his time, H my song has pleased you, mighty
ones, O grant that he may live to a green old age."
" All mortals would live to a green old age, Apollo,
and thou lovest many among the sons of men. There
would be no end to our bounty if for every song we must
grant thee a life. Nay, ask some other boon, for thy
song has reached our hearts !"
But Apollo turned sadly away. " There is nothing
else I would ask of you, great Sisters. For this, and for
this alone, have I come."
" On one condition only can we grant thee thy boon,
Apollo. Thou sayest that Admetus is a great king, and
well loved by all his folk. H among them all he can find
one soul that will go to Hades in his place, we will let him
live on to a green old age. Surely we ask not much.
Some slave who loveth not his life, or some old man
whose grey hairs are a burden, will gladly die that one
so wise and great may live on for his people's joy."
" So be it, mighty ones. Yet methinks 'tis an empty
boon thou hast given me, for men cling to life and the
sunny days on earth, and Admetus may seek far ere he
find one who will cast it aside for the darkness and gloom
of the sad underworld. And, in any case, he is not one
to live on at the price of another's life."
" We can grant no more,," they said.
163 L 2
children of the Dawn
So A])ollo went back by the way he had gone ; and he
came and stood beside Admetus, and told him the word of
the Fates. When Admetus heard it he was glad.
" 0 God of Light, thou wast ever my friend, and now
I shall owe my very life to thee. How can I thank
thee ?"
But Apollo looked through to his inmost soul. " Dost
thou accept the condition, then ?" he asked
" What else can I do, master ?" he replied.
" Thou canst die."
" I know it," cried Admetus ; " but why must I die
before my time ? With the Argonauts I sailed the un-
known seas ; in the lists I have fought and prevailed
against the flower of Hellas ; and for twelve months a god
deigned to dwell beneath my palace roof. Surely my
life is worth more than most men's, and I do well to keep
it while I may."
" So be it," said Apollo, but his face was stern and
terrible, and Admetus trembled at his frown. " Go now,
and find one who will die for thee." And he turned and
left him.
vni
When Admetus was left alone his heart was in a
tumult. He felt the wrath of Apollo like the lash of a
whip, and he knew that his anger was just. When he
looked back on his life, he was ashamed at the change
which long years of prosperity and peace had wrought in
him ; that much manliness at least was left him. When
he thought of the great deeds he had done in his youth,
and how, when he had but sipped of its joys, he had been
164
The Sacrifice ot Alcestis
ready a hundred times to cast life lightly aside, he felt
like a thief slinking guiltily home by night, laden with the
spoils that will make himself rich and leave his friend
poor and starving. If he took another's life as the price
of his own, he felt he would never be able again to look
a man straight in the face. And yet he could live his
life but once ; and life, with prosperity and ease, sun-
shine and riches, had become more dear to him than
honour, more dear than the love and esteem of his fellow-
men. His very deeds of valour had become a snare to
entice him to the path of meanness and dishonour, to
make him hold another's life as a cheap price to pay for
one so great as he. So he quenched the last spark of
manliness that still struggled for life in his heart, and sent
a proclamation through the land, bidding all those who
would die that their king might live, to come and stand
before him in the palace, that he might choose between
them ; for he thought that many would be glad to die
for him. For many a long day he waited, and no man
came. Then he sent forth trusty messengers to stir the
people's hearts ; but they returned with words instead of
men.
" We will ride in the chase, we will sail the stormy
seas, we will fight against our country's foes, and in all
these things will we risk our lives to save the king. But
we will not leave our wives and little ones and the pleasant
life on earth, for no cause save that another may live
beyond his fated time."
Such were the words of the people.
Then Admetus sent for all his household — the slaves
that had been born and bred within the palace. And
165
Children of the Dawn
they said that they would toil for him all their days, but
die for him they would not ; for even the life of a slave
was better than the endless years of gloom in the kingdom
of the dead.
Then the heart of Admetus grew bitter within him, and
he hated the thought of death more than ever before,
when he found that even the meanest life was dear to the
hearts of men. In his despair he turned to his aged
parents, for he thought within himself,
" Surely one of them will be ready to die for their own
son. At best they have not many years of life, and if I
die before them they will have no son to bury them and
perform the funeral rites and prayers, as only a son can
do for his parents."
So he went to Pheres his father, and begged that he
would die in his place. But his father answered,
" Dost thou think that because thou lovest the sunlight
thy father loves it not ?"
" Nay, but in any case Death must lay his hand upon
thee soon, whilst I am in the prime of life."
" Because the years that are left me are few, they are
none the less sweet. Nevermore in the land of Hades shall
I warm my old bones in the sun as I look forth upon the
fruitful earth. So the years tliat are left are doubly dear."
" Then, when thou comest to die, men will point the
finger of scorn at thy grave. ' Behold the coward, who,
though his hair was grey and his limbs were feeble, yet
refused to die for his own son !' Thy name will be a
byword throughout all Hellas."
" When I am dead it matters little what men shall
6ay of me," said Pheres.
i66
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
" May the gods forgive thee for what thou hast said !"
cried Admetus, and turned away in wrath. For it was a
diradful thing for a Greek to say he cared not what men
would think of him when he was dead.
Then Admetus went to his mother. But she, no less
than his father, clung to life, and refused to die in his
stead.
Last of all he turned to his wife, Alcestis. From
the beginning she had been ready to die for him, for she
loved him, and placed his life above her own. But he
had said there was no need that she should die and take
away half the joy of his life, when another would do as
well.
" It needs a great love to sacrifice life for the sake of
another," she had answered, " and there is no one in all
the world who loves thee as I do."
Now he found that her words were true, and that he
must either die himself or take her life as the price of his
own ; and his self-love had the mastery, though he tried
to persuade his heart that he was living beyond his
appointed time for his country's sake and his people's
good. Yet at bottom he was not satisfied, and his heart
grew bitter against all those who had refused to die for
him, and he accused them of being the murderers of his
wife. But he knew full well that it was his own hand
that was sending her to the grave in the flower of her
life.
At last the day of doom arrived on which Alcestis was
to die. Till then she had put aside all thought of death,
and had lived her life as though no shadow hung over her ;
ior she thought within herself,
167
Children ot the Dawn
" At least I will be happy my last days on earth. 1
shall have long enough to mourn for my life in the kingdom
of the dead."
But now the last day had come she could put away the
thought of death no longer. Before a gleam of light
shone forth on the far horizon she was up to greet the first
rays of the sun, for she was a true daughter of Hellas, and
she loved the glad sunshine and all that was bright and
fair, while death and darkness and the gloom of the sad
underworld filled her soul with horror. For the last
time she looked upon the faint gleam in the east and
watched it spread over the sky, and saw the red disc of
the sun as he rose from the way of the sea and made the
pale dawn blush. The clouds were tinged with glory, and
the heavens were filled with light, and the earth awoke
with a smile of flowers dancing in the glad morning breeze.
Then she washed in the fresh fountain water, put on her
gayest robes, and went and stood before the altar on the
hearth, to pray her last prayer on earth.
" O lady Goddess ! I am going far away across the
dark river of Death, and for the last time do I make my
prayer to thee. Ah, when I am gone, have mercy on my
children. Hard are the ways of the world, and they are
young to be left without a mother's love. Put forth the
right hand of thy pity, lady, and bring them to a glad old
age. Let them not perish, as I must, in the bloom of
their life, but give to my son a loving wife, and a noble
husband to my daughter ; and may they be happy all
their days !"
Then she went through the palace and bade farewell
to all the servants. To each one she gave her hand, even
i68
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
to the meanest skive of them all, and spoke kindly to
them. And they bathed her hand with their tears, for they
loved their mistress, and knew that when she died they
would lose a good friend. As she went the children clung
weeping about her skirts, for they, too, knew that she
must die.
Last of all she went alone to her chamber, for she could
endure no more ; and she threw herself upon her couch,
and wept as though her heart would break. She kissed
the pillows and smoothed them tenderly with her hands.
" Alas, alas ! for the happy days on earth," she cried,
" and happiest of all the years that I have lived here as
the wife of Admetus ! Farewell, my couch — farewell for
ever !"
She tried to tear herself away, but again and again
when she had reached the door she turned back and
fell once more weeping upon her couch. At last she felt
the weakness of death creeping over her, and she knew
if she did not leave her chamber then, she would leave it
nevermore alive. All her tears were spent, and she had
no strength left to weep any more. Outside in the great
hall Admetus sat with his head upon his hands, weeping
for his wife, and cursing the bitterness of his fate. And
she went and stood beside him,
" Take me out into the sunlight, Admetus," she said ;
" the darkness within oppresses me. I can breathe more
freely in the air."
When he looked at her he was afraid, for she was as pale
as death. Gently he raised her in his arms, and placed
her on a couch in the portico before the palace. And when
she saw the blue sky and the sunshine she smiled.
169
Children of the Dawn
" O sun and light of day," she said, " and ye dancing,
eddying clouds, farewell !"
" O ye gods, have mercy !" cried Admetus. " ]\Iy
dearest, look up, and leave me not all desolate."
But with a cry of fear she started up, and pointed in
front.
" Look, look ! The boat of the dead, and the ferryman
of souls with his hand upon the pole — Charon ! He
calls, ' Alcestis, why dost thou tarry ? Hasten and come
with me.' "
" Ah, Fate, Fate — cruel Fate !" cried Admetus.
" He is snatching me away — oh, save me ! — down,
down to the dark halls of death. Away, let me go ! He
frowns with his dark gleaming brows. Ah, the dread
journey before me !"
" Leave me not, leave me not !" cried Admetus.
" Lay me down again," said Alcestis, and her voice
was scarce more than a whisper. " The strength is gone
out of my limbs, and darkness creeps over my eyes. My
children, where are you ? Come here, my little ones, and
nestle close beside me."
And the children crept silently to her.
Then she held out her hand to Admetus.
" My lord," she said, " farewell. Already my feet are
planted in the paths of death, and thou canst not hold me
back. I have been a loving wife to thee, Admetus;
my beauty, my youth, my joy of life — all these I
give to thee. Ah, when I am dead, forget me not, for
the children's sake, for these poor little ones — promise
me. Promise me thou wilt not wed again, for a step-
mother's heart would be hard against my children, and
170
And the children crept silently to her.
The Sacrifice of A Ices lis
they would suffer. Promise me that thou wilt be a
father and mother to them in one."
" I promise," said Admetus.
" Then into thy hands I give them. Poor little ones,
what will you do without me ? My son, for thee thy
father will ever be a strong tower of defence, and will
bring thee up to be a true man. But for thee, little
maiden, my heart bleeds. Thou wilt have no mother to
dress thee on thy wedding-day, or to comfort thee in thy
sorrows, when there is no love like a mother's. Be doubly
tender with her, Admetus."
" I will, I will. All that thou sayest I will do, and
more also. Not for one year only, but all my life long,
will I mourn for thee. Forget me not, I pray thee. Pre-
pare a place for me below, that I may be with thee when
I come to die."
" Nay, I will not forget thee. Lay me back now. I
can say no more."
Gently he laid her back, and knelt down by her side,
and all they that stood around bowed their heads in
silence, for they knew that Death was standing in their
midst.
At last Admetus looked up.
" My friends," he said, " she is gone. Help me now to
carry her in, that the maidens may clothe her in the robes
of death."
Gently and reverently, with heads bowed in grief, they
carried her in. The maidens clad her in long white robes,
and laid her on the bier, and the mourners stood round and
sang a dirge for the dead. On the threshold before the
palace Admetus placed the locks he had shorn from his
Children of the Dawn
head in token that within one lay dead, and he put on
long black robes of mourning, and took off the golden
circlet from his brow. Throughout the city he sent a
proclamation to say the queen was dead.
" Men of Thessaly," it said, " all ye who own my
sway, come, share with me in sorrow for my wife who
is dead. Shave the bright locks from your heads, and
don your sable robes. Harness your four-horsed chariots ;
put the bit in the mouths of your steeds. Cut off the long
manes from their necks, and follow with me to her grave.
Let not the voice of the flute be heard in your streets, nor
the sound of the lyre, till full twelve moons have waxed
and waned ; for she was the noblest of women, and dearest
of all on earth to me. Her life she sacrificed for mine.
Pay her high honours, then, for she is most worthy."
IX
Whilst the preparations for the funeral were being made,
anyone who chanced to look along the highroad would
have seen a stranger making his way towards the palace.
He was a strong man and tall — three cubits and more in
height. The muscles of his arms and chest stood out like
thongs of cord. In his hand he carried a huge knotted
club, and over his shoulders hung a lion's skin. If the
wind or the sun were too strong, he would draw the iaws
of the beast over his head like a hood, and the great teeth
shone out white and terrible over his brows and under
his chin. He walked along with great swinging strides,
balancing the club upon his shoulder as though it were
some light twig, and not heavy as a sapling oak. As he
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The Sacrifice of Alcestis
went tlirougli the villages the people stood aside from his
path in wonder, and even the strongest champion of them
all would whisper, " May the gods deliver me from ever
having to stand up against him in single combat. In his
little finger is the strength of my right arm."
But he walked on, little heeding what folk thought of
him, singmg now and again snatches of some drinking-
song, and passing the time of day, or cracking some joke
with those he met upon the way ; for, in truth, he had a
merry heart, and wished well to all mankind. Those who
were frightened when first they saw his club and lion's
skin forgot their fears as soon as they could see his face,
for his eyes were blue and laughing as the summer sky,
and his smile was bright as the sun in spring. And 3'et
there were lines and scars about his features which proved
that he was no idler, but one who had looked labour and
danger in the face.
So he came to Plierae and went up the steep path to
the palace. It chanced that Admetus was standing in
the portico on his way in. When the stranger saw him he
shouted out,
" Hail to thee, Admetus ! Turn back and greet an old
friend."
When Admetus heard him, he turned and came towards
him.
" Welcome, Heracles," he said, and held out his hand
to greet him.
But when Heracles saw his black robes and shorn locks
he was troubled.
" I have come at an evil hour, Admetus," he said ;
" thou art mourning for one who is dear to thee."
^7^
children of the Dawn
'* Ay," he answered ; " it is true."
*' One of thy children, can it be, or thy father ?"
" Nay, there is nought amiss with them. It is a woman
I am carrying out to burial this day."
" Is she a stranger, or one of the family ?"
" She is not one of the family. Yet she is very dear
to us, for on her father's death she came and lived with
us. She was a fair and noble woman, and all the house is
plunged in grief at her death."
" Then I will leave thee and go elsewhere. A house of
mourning is no place for guests."
" Nay," cried Admetus ; " I beg of thee, do not go.
Never yet have my halls turned away a traveller from the
gates. The dead are dead. What more could we do
for them ? 'Twould do them small good to lack in friend-
ship for the living. Come in, come in, I pray thee."
In spite of all his entreaties, he forced him to come in,
and bade his steward take him to a guest-room apart,
where he might eat and drink, and hear nothing of the
sounds of mourning when the body was carried out to
the tomb ; and he did all in his power to hide from his
guest that it was Alcestis who was dead ; for he was
ashamed for Heracles to know that he had allowed his
wife to die for him.
Meanwhile all had been prepared for the funeral, and
a train of citizens stood waiting in the court to follow
behind the bier. Their long black robes fell trailing in
the dust ; their heads were shorn in grief, and with slow
steps they followed behind the bier, whilst the rjourners
sang a dirge for the dead.
" O daughter of Pelias, farewell, farewell for evermore !
176
The Sacrifice of Alccstis
Mayest thou have peace in the world below and such joy
as may be in those sunless places ! O thou black-haired
god of Death, never has one more noble come down to
dwell in thy halls ; never, O Charon, thou grim ferryman
of souls — never hast thou carried a burden more precious
across the dark and dreadful stream ! Oft shall thy
praises be sung, lady, by minstrels of music in every land.
On the seven-stringed mountain-lute shall they sing thee,
and in hymns, without lyre or lute, in Sparta, when the
circling seasons bring round the summer feast-time, and
all night long the moon rides high in heaven. In bright
and shining Athens shall they praise thee, too ; for thou
alone, O brightest and best, hast dared to die for thy lord,
and give up thy young life for him. O dark Necessity,
who shroudest all men about with death, how heavy is
thy hand upon this house ! From thee none can flee, and
Zeus himself bows down before thee. Thou alone, O
goddess, hast no temple, no images to which men turn^n
prayer, neither hearest thou the voice of victims slain.
Alcestis is gone — gone for ever. Our eyes shall see her
no more. Light may the earth lie above thee, lady.
Dear wast thou when thou wast among us ; dear shalt
thou be, too, in death. No mere mound of the dead
shall thy tomb be, but honoured of every passer-by, as
some shrine of the Immortals. The stranger toiling up
the winding way shall bow his head before it and say,
' Here lieth one who died for her lord ; now she is a
blessed spirit. O lady, have mercy upon me !' So great
shall be thy glory among men for ever. Fare thee well,
fare thee well, most beautiful."
So they laid her in the polished tomb, and placed rich
177 M
Children of the Dawn
gifts about her, and sacrifices of blood to the grim god
of Death. WTien all the rites were accomplished, they
went away sorrowful.
X
Meanwhile Heracles had been led to a guest-chamber
apart, and the servants ministered to all his wants, and
brought him water to wash with, and change of raiment.
As they waited on him, he talked gaily to them of his
adventm'es on the way, and made them laugh in spite of
their grief for their mistress. Only the old serving-man
stood aloof, and looked darkly at the stranger who dared
to make merry in a house of mourning.
When he had washed and dressed, he sat dowm to meat.
They placed an ample meal before him, and brought him
wine to drink. But in his eyes their bounty was dearth,
and he kept calling for more till they could scarce contain
their astonishment at his appetite. At length, when he
had eaten his fill, he crowned his head with vine-leaves,
and fell to drinking long and deep. The wine warmed his
heart, and sent a cheerful glow through all his veins. So
happy was he that he could not sit in silence, but raised
his voice and sang, and his singing was like the roaring
of a bull.
" Great Zeus, preser\'e us !" sighed the old waiting-
man ; " never have I heard anything more discordant
and unseemly."
But the guest grew merrier and merrier, and the face
of the serving-man, as he watched, grew longer and
longer. At length Heracles himself noticed his dis-
approving countenance.
178
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
" Ho, there !" cried he ; " why so dark and gloomy, my
friend ? I had as soon be welcomed by an iceberg as
by thee, old sour-face."
The serving-man answered him ne.-er a word, but only
scowled the more.
" What !" cried Heracles, " is this the sort of welcome
thou art wont to give thy master's guests ? Come hither,
and I will teach thee better ways."
And he took hold of the old man and set him down
beside him at the table.
" Alack ! What a countenance ! And all for a strange
girl who has chanced to die. How wilt thou look when
one of thy masters is laid in the grave ? I like not this
mask of hypocrisy, my friend. Thou carest not for her
who is dead, but pullest a long face, and strikest a chill
to the hearts of all beholders, because, forsooth, it is
seemly to mourn for the dead. Why, we must all
pay our tribute to death, every man of us, and no one
knoweth whether he shall ever see the next day's light ;
then count the present as thine o\\ti, and eat and drink
with me and make merry. A fro^Miing face profits not
the dead — nay, it serves but to blacken the sunshine of
this life that we can live but once. Up, man, drink
and wash away thy frowns ! Believe me, life is no life
at all — only labour and misfortune to those who walk
through it with pompous steps and sour faces."
And he poured out a brimming goblet.
" All this I know full well, master," answered the old
man, " but the shadow that has fallen on this house is
too heavy for me to join in thy revelry."
" Thou makest too much of death. Thou canst not
179 M 2
Children of the Dawn
grieve for a stranger as thou wouldst for one of the
household. Thy master and mistress Hve. Let that
suffice thee."
" What ! My master and mistress hve ? Alas ! my
master is too kind a host."
" Must I starve, then, because a strange girl is dead ?"
" It is no stranger, I tell thee, but one most near and
dear."
" Have I been deceived ? Has he hidden some mis-
fortune from me ?"
" Ask no more, but go in peace. My master's sorrows
are for me to bear, not for thee. And he bade me not
speak of it."
" Speak, speak, man ! I see he has hidden some great
sorrow from me. Who is the woman who is dead ?"
" Ask me not. My master told me not to say."
" And I forbid thee not to say. Tell me forthwith !"
So fierce and terrible did he look that the old man
trembled before him.
" May my lord forgive me !" said he. " It is Alcestis,
his wife."
" Alcestis !" cried Heracles. " And he would not
share his sorrow with me, his friend, but let me come in
and feast and sing while he went out to bury her. Woe
is me ! I thought he loved me."
" It was to spare thee pain that he did not tell thee,
master."
" How came she to die ?" asked Heracles, and took off
the vine-leaves from his head, and poured out the wine
upon the floor.
Then the old man told him the whole tale,
i8o
The Sacrifice of Alcestis
" Where have they buried her ?" he asked, when it was
ended.
" Out yonder, where the white highway leads to
Larissa, in the plain. There, on the outskirts of the city,
thou wilt find the tomb of the kings of PhenT, where they
are laying her."
" Is there no shorter way I can go and reach her
quickly ?"
" There is a footpath by the fields that I will show
thee."
" Come, then, straightway. I must go and lie in wait
for the black Lord of Death. He will come up to drink
of the blood that is poured out for him beside the tomb.
Then I will fall upon him from my ambush and wrestle
with him and prevail, and he shall give me back Alcestis.
Even if I must go down to Hades and fetch her, she shall
come back. She is too fair and too noble to pass her young
life in the dark underworld."
The old man marvelled at his words ; but he went out
with him, and showed him the footpath across the fields,
and stood watching him till he passed out of sight.
" Verily, we talk and weep," he muttered to himself,
" and he laughs and acts. He is worth ten of us."
XI
Meanwhile the funeral procession was coming back
along the highway. As they came into the city each man
departed to his own house ; only Admetus with his near
friends and kinsmen returned to the palace to celebrate
the funeral feast. Whilst they were waiting for the
i8i
Children of the Dawn
feast to be prepared, Admetus stayed outside alone in
the court. He sat down on one of the stone seats beneath
the colonnade, and buried his face in his hands. He
could not bring himself to go into the house, where every-
thing would remind him of the wife he had lost — the chair
in which she used to sit, empty now ; the fire on the altar
burning low, and the ashes scattered about, because she
was there no more to feed the dying flames. The full force
of the sacrifice came home to him now, and he shuddered
as he thought of the deed he iiad done.
" I have slain her — I have slain her whom I loved, to
save myself from deatli, because I loved my life, and
hated to go to the dark world below. Woe is me !" he
cried. " The sun is turned to darkness and the earth to
Hades since she went away. I grasped at the substance,
and all the while I followed after a shade. Fool that I
was to upbraid them who refused to die for me and cast
her death in their teeth ! She is dead, dead — slain by
my hand alone. Nevermore can I look my people in tlie
face, nor glory in the deeds I have done. The shame of
my cowardice will blot them all out, and I shall slink like
a cur among my fellows. Would that I had died with
her !"
Thus he sat making fruitless moan. His friends came
out and tried to comfort him and bring him into the
house, but he sent them away, and would not go in. All
the evening he sat there alone till darkness began to fall.
At length he felt a heavy hand laid upon his shoulder,
and, looking up, he saw Heracles standing beside him.
" Why couldst thou not trust me, Admetus }'' he
asked. " All thy household, all the city, knew that thy
182
The Sacrifice of Alccstis
wife Alccstis was dead. I\Ic only, thy familiar friend,
didst thou keep in ignorance. I had thought to stand
beside thee in thy sorrow, and thou didst not even tell
me of it."
" I was ashamed," answered Admetus.
" Well, well, what is done cannot be undone. There
is but one way now that thou canst prove thou art still
my friend. After I had eaten, I walked out across the
fields, and came upon a place where the people were
holding games and giving rich prizes to the winners —
horses and oxen, and a fair woman to the best man of
all. When I saw the woman I determined to win her.
So I entered for the contest and beat all my rivals. The
woman I have brought back with me now, and beg of thee
to keep her till I come back from the wild Thracian folk,
for I cannot take her with me there. If by any chance I
should never come back, but meet my fate away, I give
her to thee to keep for thyself. I have brought her with
me now to give into thy care."
As he spoke, he led forward by the hand a woman who
had been standing near him. She was closely veiled, so
that Admetus, when he glanced up at her, could not see
her face, but only the outline of her form.
" Oh, take her away, take her away !" he cried. " In
height and figure she is like my wife, and I cannot bear to
look upon her. I would do much for thee, my friend, but
ask not this of me. No woman shall ever live in my
house again. Take her to some other of thy friends."
In spite of all Heracles could say, he refused to take
her.
" I see that thou wouldst no more be my friend, Ad-
183
children of the Dawn
metus," he said at last. " First thou wilt not tell nie
of thy sorrow, and now thou wilt not do this little thing
for me. I will go and trouble thee no more with my
friendship."
At this Admetus was cut to the quick.
" Ah, say not that. Thou knowest that I love thee,
but this is a hard thing thou askest. Whenever I look
at her I shall be reminded of my wife. And the tongue of
slander will not be silent. Men will say that I take
comfort, and have forgotten the woman who gave her
life for mine. Nevertheless, if thou wilt have it so, I
yield. Take the woman in, or let one of the servants
show her the way."
" Nay," said Heracles ; " to thee alone will I trust her.
She is fair and noble, and I would not have her treated
as a common woman."
And he forced Admetus to take her by the hand.
" Now I know that thou wilt treat her honourably, thou
mayst look upon her face," he said, and lifted up the veil
which shrouded her.
When Admetus saw her face, he fell back terrified, for,
pale and beautiful, scarce looking as though she breathed,
Alcestis stood before him.
" Ye gods !" he gasped ; " the spirit of my wife !"
" Nay," said Heracles, " but her very self."
" Thou mockest ; it cannot be."
" It is no mockery, as who should know better than I
who won her ?" said Heracles. " By Zeus, I have wrestled
many a tough match, but never a one so tough as this,
the gods be praised ! I have met Death face to face, and
I hope I may never have to stand up against him more."
184
She answered him never a word, but held out both her hands and
raised him from his knees.
The Sacrilicc of Alccstis
" Ah, my friend, liow can I thank thoo ? I have not
deserved so much joy," cried Admetus, and fell on his
knees before them.
" I thought not of thy deserts, but of hers," said
Heracles. " Come, take her in."
" I dare not touch her. Ah, lady, canst thou love one
who sent thee to thy death ?" he asked, with head bowed
down before her.
She answered him never a word, but held out both her
hands and raised him from his knees ; and he looked
deep into her eyes, and found them full of love. Tenderly
and humbly he put his arm about her and led her awa5%
and felt that, if anything on earth could ever raise him
from the depths of selfishness and meanness to which he
had fallen, it would be the boundless, measureless love
of the woman before him.
" Now to change the funeral feast to a banquet of re-
joicing," cried Heracles. " Truly, I could eat an ox after
this last bout of mine."
187
The Hunting of the Calydonian Boar
^N the city of Calydon long ago
^ there were great rejoicings be-
cause the queen Althaea had given
birth to ason, her first-born, who,
if he grew to years of manhood,
would in time sit upon the throne
of his father (Eneus, and rule the
land. Some seven days after the
child was born it chanced that
the queen was lying alone in her
chamber, with the babe upon her
breast. It was winter-time, and the shades of evening
had fallen early about the room, but a bright fire blazed
upon the hearth, and the flickering flames threw dancing
shadows on the walls. The queen was very happy as
she pressed her baby to her breast, and held its soft little
hand in hers, and whispered in its ear words which only
a mother knows how to use to her child.
As she lay she watched the shadows playing up and
down upon the walls, and to her eyes they took strange
forms of men and beasts. Now it was a great fight she
saw, with horses and chariots rushing over a plain, and
mighty warriors meeting face to face in battle ; now it was
i88
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
a hunt, with winding of horns and dogs straining at the
leash, and a white-tusked boar breaking through a thicket.
But whether it was a hunt or whether it was a battle,
everywhere there was one figure of a man she watched —
a man tall and fair and brave, who stood out conspicuous
among his fellows — such a hero as her son might grow to
be if he lived till years of manhood. And she prayed that
her vision might come true, and her son grow up to be a
hero — a man mighty in sport and mighty in battle. In
time the flames died down, and the fire burned clear and
still upon the hearth. The queen's eyes grew heavy, and
she was about to turn on her side to sleep when a strange
thing happened, which took from her all desire for rest.
The wall of the room in front of her, which had glowed
bright and cheery in the firelight, grew grey and misty
and seemed to vanish before her eyes, and through the
opening there came towards her the forms of three strange
women, taller and more terrible than any women of earth.
The first one carried in her hand a skein of thread, the
second a spindle, and the third a pair of great sharp
shears. The queen lay still and motionless with terror
as they came forward slowly arm in arm and stood beside
the couch, looking down upon the child at her breast. At
length the first one spoke,
" I give to thy child, Althaea, a thread of life exceeding
bright and fair."
" And I," said the second, " will weave that thread
into dark places, where it will shine the brighter for the
darkness round about, and bring him honour and great
renown."
The third one said never a word, but walked slowly
189
children of the Dawn
roand the couch till she stood before the fire on the hearth.
A great brand had fallen from the grate, and lay smoulder-
ing on the stones. Bending down, she took it in her
hand, and thrust it deep into the red-hot heart of the fire,
and stood watching it till it was well alight, and the
tongues of flame shot crackling upwards. Then she
turned towards the queen.
" As soon as that brand upon the fire is consumed," she
said, " I will cut the shining thread with my shears, and
his life shall be as ashes cast forth upon the wind."
As she spoke, she held out the shears, and they gleamed
sharp and cruel in the firelight.
With a cry of terror the queen sprang up from her
couch, forgetful of her weakness, and thinking only of the
life of her child ; and she rushed across the room, and,
drawing forth the blazing brand from the fire, she
smothered it in her gown, and crushed it beneath her
bare feet, till not a live spark remained about it. Then
she hid it in a secret place where she alone could find it,
and cast herself upon her couch and knew no more. When
the attendants came in, they found the room empty, save
for the queen and her child ; and she lay senseless on the
couch, with her feet and her gown all scarred and burnt.
For many a long day she lay between life and death,
but at last the gods had mercy, and her strength came
slowly back to her. But when anyone asked her the
cause of her burning, she would shudder and mutter
some strange tale of a brand which fell from the fire, and
would have burnt out the life of her child. What she
meant no one ever knew, but they thought that the gods
had stricken her with a sudden fever, and that, not
190
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
knowing what she did, she had burnt herself in the fire.
But of the half-burnt brand and of the word of the Fates
they knew nothing, for Althaea had said in lier heart,
" The Fates have spoken, and their word shall surely
come to pass. A fine and fair thread of life has Lachesis
given to my son, and Clotho will weave it into dark
places, where it shall shine exceeding bright. The gifts
they have given are good. The hand of Atropos alone is
against him, and she has measured his life by the life of
a frail piece of wood. But so long as the gods shall give
me strength no careless hand shall place that brand upon
the flames, and no man shall know the secret of his life,
for grief or madness may turn even the heart of a friend.
On me, and on me alone, shall my son's life rest ; for well
do I know that neither prayer nor sacrifice can avail to
turn the heart of Atropos, the Unswerving One."
So she kept the brand securely hidden where she alone
could find it. Many other fair children did she bear to
Qi^neus the king — Phereus and Agelaus and Periphas, and
Gorge and Melanippe, and the hapless Dejaneira, who
married Heracles, and unwittingly caused his death.
But best of them all she loved Meleager, her first-born ;
for the word that the Fates had spoken came true He
grew to be a great warrior and a mighty man, and was
feared by his foes and loved by his friends through the
length and breadth of the land ; for there were great
wars in those days between the Curetes of Pleuron and
the iEtolians of Calydon, and on either side fought men
whose names were not despised among theii fellows, but
among them all there was none so famed as Meleager.
In all the country-side there was no man who could hurl
191
children of the Dawn
the javelin with such force and skill as he, and whenever
he went forth to battle the victory lay with the men of
Calydon, and he was called the saviour and protector of
his city.
"When he was in the flower of his manhood, the call
of Jason came from far lolchos for all the heroes of
Hellas to join him in his search for the Golden Fleece.
Amongst them sailed Meleager in the good ship Argo,
and came to the land of the dusky Colchians on the
shores of the Euxine Sea. One tale goes that he slew
iEetes their king, the child of the Sun, and saved his
comrades from deadly peril. But whether this be true
or no, certain it is that he played his part like a man, and
came back to Calydon with a fair name for courage and
endurance. Then was he hoisted on the shoulders of his
countrymen and carried through the streets of the city,
and feasted right royally in his father's house.
Soon after his return it chanced that the harvest was
more plentiful than it had ever been within the memory
of man. The golden corn stood high upon the plains, and
on the sunny mountain-sides the olive-trees were thick
with berries, and the vine-branches drooped low with their
weight of purple fruit. Wherefore CEneus the king ordered
a great thanksgiving to be held throughout the land in
honour of Dionysus and Demeter and grey-eyed Pallas
Athene, who had given such good gifts to men. At every
shrine and temple the altars smoked with sacrifice, and
glad bands of youths and maidens with garlands on their
heads danced hand in hand around, singing the song of the
harvest.
" All hail to thee, Demeter, great Earth - Mother !
192
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
From PvVenus to the silver eddying waters of wide
Acheloiis thou hast covered the bosom of the plain with
golden ears of corn, and tliey dance beneath the west
wind like the waves on summer seas. All hail to thee,
Dionysus, who bringest joy to the heart of man ! About
thine altars the juice of the vine shall flow like water,
and the souls of those who were bowed down beneath
labour and toil shall be uplifted to thee in the glad harvest-
time. And Pallas Athene, grey-eyed maiden, thee too
we hail, for thy gift of the fragrant olive. The shade of
thy trees lies cool upon the panting liill-sides, and thou
hast looked with kindness on our land. Oh, come
hither, all ye townsfolk and ye dwellers on the plains and
hills — come hither in your hundreds, and dance about
the altars, and sing thanksgiving to the great gods on
high."
Thus did they dance and sing, and there was gladness
and rejoicing through all the land, and not one soul
among them all knew how soon their laughter would be
turned to tears. For when Artemis, the huntress, saw that
everywhere the altars smoked in honour of Demeter,
and Dionysus, and Pallas Athene, but that never a single
stone was raised to her, she was filled with jealousy and
wrath. One night, when all the land lay sleeping, she
left the mountains, where she loved to hunt, and came
down to Calydon. The arrows in her quiver rattled as she
strode along in her wrath, and the flash of her eyes was
as the flash of summer lightning across the sky. With
great swinging strides she came and stood over (Eneus
as he slept.
" O king," she said, " too long have I been patient and
193 N
Children of the Dawn
waited for my dues ; but I will suffer thine ingratitude no
more. When the young corn stands green upon the
plain, and the vine-leaves are shooting, and the trees cast
once more their shade upon the bare lull-side, then slialt
thou have cause to know my power. Demeter may sow
her golden grain, and Dionysus and Pallas Athene may
fill their fruits with gladdening juice, but thou hast yet
to learn that, if it be my will, though the promise of the
harvest be fair, the fruits thereof shall lie spoilt and un-
gathered where they grew. Broad and dark are the
forests which cover wild Arachynthus, and deep the
ravines, and many a wild beast lurks therein that is tame
at my word alone. One of these will I let loose upon
thy land. Many a fair field shall be trodden underfoot,
and many a vineyard and olive-grove laid waste — yea,
and red blood shall flow, ere my wrath be assuaged, and
I take away the pest from your midst. I have spoken,
and no sacrifice shall turn me from my word."
Thus did she speak, saying the words in his ear, and
turned and left the room by the way she had come.
With a start he awoke from his sleep and looked around
him, but no one could he see. Only a sudden storm of
wind lashed the branches of the trees against each other,
and a dark cloud hid the face of the moon.
" The sad winter-time is coming," he thought, " with
its storms and its darkened days. Yet, lest there be
aught in my dream, I will remember Artemis to-morrow,
and her altars, too, shall smoke with sacrifice."
So on the morrow a great festival was held in honour
of Artemis, the maiden huntress, and ffineus laid aside
all thought of his dream. But when the spring-time came
19^
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
and the early summer, he had cause to remember it with
sorrow, for out of the forests of Arachynthus there came
a great boar which laid waste all the country, right and
left. In size he was more huge than an ox of Epirus,
whose oxen are the largest in the world, and the bristles
on his neck stood up like spikes. His breatli was as a
flame of fire that burned up all that stood in his way, and
his cruel little eyes gleamed red with blood. Over the
cornfields he raged , and trampled the green blades beneath
his hoofs, and with his strong white tusks he tore down
the vine-branches and broke the overhanging boughs of
the olive, so that the young berries and fruit lay spoilt
upon the ground. Not only did he lay waste the fields,
but the flocks and herds on the pasture-land were not safe
from his attack, and neither shepherds nor dogs could
protect them from his fury. Through all the country-
side the people fled in terror for their lives, and hid within
the city walls, only now and again a band of the bravest
would go forth and lay nets and snares for him ; but
50 great was the strength of the beast that he broke
through every trap they could devise, and, killing any
man who stood in his path, he would return, with greater
fury than before, to his attack upon the fields and cattle.
At length things came to such a pass that, unless the
monster could be checked, famine would ere long stare
the people in the face. When Meleager saw that neither
prayer nor sacrifice would turn the heart of Artemis, nor
any ordinary hunting put an end to the boar, lie deter-
mined to gather around him a band of heroes who, for
the sake of glory, would come together for the hunt, and
either kill the beast or perish themselves in the attempt.
195 N 2
children of the Dawn
So he sent a proclamation far and wide through all the
kingdoms of Hellas.
" O men of Hellas," he said, " the fair plains of Calydon
lie trodden underfoot by a grievous monster, and her
people are fallen upon evil days. Come hither and help
us, all ye who love adventure, and fear not risk nor peril,
ye seasoned warriors whose spirit is not dead within you,
and ye young men who have yet 3'our name to win.
Come hither to us, and we will give you fair sport and
good cheer withal."
in answer to his call there flocked from far and wide
to Calydon a great host of brave men, and mighty was the
muster which gathered beneath the roof of (Eneus for the
hunting of the boar. Jason himself came, the leader of
the Argonauts, and Castor and Pollux, the great twin
brethren, whose stars are in the sky. There was Theseus,
too, who slew the Minotaur, and Peirithous his friend,
who went down with him to Hades, and tried to carry off
Persephone from the king of the Dead. And swift-footed
Idas came, and Lynceus, his brother, whose eyes were
so sharp that they could see into the centre of the earth.
Others were there besides, whose names are too many to
tell, and Toxeus and Plexippus, the brothers of Althaea
the queen, whom she loved as she loved her own son
Meleager. For as a little maid she had played with them
in the palace of Thestius, her father, and she remembered
how she would watch for them to come home from the
hunt and clap her hands with joy, when from afar she saw
them returning home with their spoil. And they would
fondle her and play with her, and so long as they were
with her she was as happy as a bird ; but when they went
196
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
away, her heart ached for them to come back. The.
memory of those days stiU shone briglit within her heart,
and when her brothers came with the other guests for the
hunting of the boar, she welcomed them right gladly.
In the great hall a sumptuous feast was spread, and loud
was the laughter and bright were the faces, as one friend
met another he had not seen for many a long day, and
sat down by his side in good-fellowship with the groaning
board before them. The feast was well under way when
one of the attendants whispered in the ear of the king
that yet another guest had come for the hunting of the
boar.
" Who is he ?" asked the king.
" My lord, I know not," the man replied.
" Well, keep him not standing without, at all events,"
said OEneus, " but show him in here, and we will make
him welcome with the rest."
In a few moments the man returned, and held back the
curtain of the great doorway for the new-comer to enter.
All eyes were turned eagerly that way to see who it might
be, and a murmur of surprise ran round the hall ; for they
saw upon the threshold no stalwart warrior, as they had
expected, but a maiden young and beautiful. She was
clad in a hunter's tunic, which fell to her knee, and her
legs were strapped about with leathern thongs. Cross-
wise about her body she wore a girdle, from which hung
a quiver full of arrows, and with her right hand she leant
on a great ashen bow like a staff. Her shining hair fell
back in waves from her forehead, and was gathered up in
a coil behind, and she held her head up proudly and gazed
round on the compan}^ unabashed. The glow of her
197
children of the Dawri
cheek and the spring of her step told of Hfe in the open,
and of health-giving sport over hill and dale, so that she
might have been Artemis herself come down from her
himtmg on the mountains. She looked round the hall
till her eyes fell on ffineus, the host, in the place of
honour, and in no wise troubled by the silence which her
coming had caused, she said,
" Sire, for my late-coming I crave thy pardon. Doubt-
less some of thy guests have come from more distant
lands than I, but, as ill-luck would have it, I chose to
come by way of the sea instead of by the isthmus, and
for a whole day I ate out my heart with waiting by the
shrine of Poseidon for a favouring breeze ; for the east
wind blew like fury across the Criscean Gulf, and any
barque that had ventured to try the crossing had been
blown to the isles of the Hesperides ere it had reached thy
land. So I waited perforce till the wind fell and I could
cross over in safety."
Concealing his surprise as best he could, (Eneus
answered,
" Maiden, we thank thee for thy coming, and make thee
right welcome in our halls. Yet we fain would know
thy name who, a woman all alone, hast crossed barren
tracts of land and stormy seas unflinching, and come
to take part in a hunt which is no mere child's sport, but
a perilous venture, in which strong men might hesitate
to risk their lives and limbs."
As she listened to his words she smiled.
" O king," she said, " thou hidest thy surprise but ill.
Yet am I not offended, nor will I make a mystery of who
I am. My name is Atalanta, and I come from the moun-
198
i
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
tains of Arcadia, wliere all day long I hunt with the
nymphs over hill and over dale, and through the dark
forests, following in the footsteps of her we serve, great
Artemis the huntress. At her command I stand before
thee now, for she said to me, ' Atalanta, the land of
Calydon lies groaning beneath the curse, wherewith I
cursed them because they forgot me, and gave me not
my dues. But do thou go and help them, and for
thy sake I will lay aside my wrath, and let them slay
the monster that I sent against them. Yet without thee
shall they not accomplish it, but the glory of the hunt
shall be thine.' Thus did she speak, and in obedience
to her word am I come."
When she had spoken, a murmur ran round the hall,
and each man's gorge rose within him as he determined
in his mind that no mere woman should surpass him
in courage and strength. The sons of Thestius, the
queen's brothers, especially looked askance at her, and
their hearts were filled with jealousy and wrath ; for her
eye was bright and steady, and her limbs looked supple
and swift, and there seemed no reason why she should not
be a match for any man among them, in a trial where swift-
ness of foot and sureness of eye would avail as much as
brute force. When Meleager saw their dark looks he
was very angry that they should so far forget their good
breeding as to fail in welcoming a guest, and he rose from
his seat and went towards her.
" O maiden," he said, " we make thee right welcome to
our halls, and we thank thee because thou hast heard our
appeal, and art come to help us in the day of our trouble.
Come, now, and sit thee down, and make glad thy heart
199
children of the Dawn
witli meat and wine, for thou must need it sorely after
thy long journeying."
As he spoke, he took her by the hand and set her in a
place of honour between his father and himself, and saw
that she had her fill of the good fare on the board. As he
sat beside her and talked with her, his heart was kindled
with love, for she was exceeding fair to look upon ; and
the more he thought upon the morrow's hunting, the
more loath was he that she should risk her life in it. At
length he said,
" Atalanta, surely thou knowest not what manner of
beast it is that we are gathered together to destroy.
Thou hast hunted the swift-footed stag, perchance,
through the greenwood, but never a monster so fierce as
this boar that Artemis has sent agamst us. I tell thee, it
will be no child's play, but a matter of death to some of
us. Hast thou no mother or father to mourn thee if
any evil chance befall, or any lover who is longing for
thy return ? Think well ere it be too late."
But she laughed aloud at his words.
" Thou takest me for some drooping damsel that sits
at home and spins, and faints if she see but a drop of
blood. I tell thee, I know neither father, nor mother,
nor husband, nor brother, and I love but little the lot
of womenkind such as thou knowest. Never have I lived
within four walls, and the first roof that covered me was
the forest-trees of Mount Parthenius, which stands where
three lands meet, on the borders of Sparta, Argolis, and
wooded Arcadia, that I have chosen for my home.
Whence I came or how I got to Parthenius no one can
tell, and I have no wish to find out. As for savage beasts,
200
As he spoke, he took her by the hand and set her in a place of honour
between his father and himself.
Hunting the Calydonian Boaf
had I not the eyes of a hawk and the feet of a deer, I had
not been safe ten seconds on the uplands of Arcadia. For
there, as doubtless thou hast heard, there dwells a fierce
tribe of centaurs — monsters half human and half horse —
who have the passions of men and the strength of beasts.
These, when they set eyes upon me, were fired by my
beauty, and pursued me over hill and dale, and I fled like
the wind before them ; but ever and anon I found time to
turn and let fly from my bow a dart which fell but seldom
short of the mark. So dire was the havoc I wrought in
their herd that after a time they gave up in despair, and
molested me no more. So talk not to me of fierce beasts
or of danger. All my life long I have breathed in danger
from the air about me, and I had as soon die outright, as
sit with thy womenkind in safety within, whilst all of
you went forth for the hunting of the boar."
And nothing that Meleager could say would turn her
from her purpose.
" Dost think I have left the mountains of Arcadia, and
the nymphs, and the joys and dangers of the hunt, to come
and sit with the old wives round thy palace fire in Caly-
don ?" she said with a laugh ; and her white teeth shone
like pearls in the torchlight, and the gleam of her hair
and the fire of her eyes kindled yet more surely the flame
of love in his heart, so that he could have fallen at her
feet and begged her for his sake to keep away from
danger. But across the board he saw the eyes of Toxeus
and Plexippus, his mother's brothers, fixed upon him,
and their brows were dark and lowering as they frowned
upon him and Atalanta. So he said no more, lest they
should discover his secret and taunt him for his passion ;
203
children of the Dawn
but in his heart he knew that on the morrow his thought
would be as much for her safety as for the kilHng of the
boar. As for Atalanta, a stone would have returned his
love as readily as she. For a companion in the hunt she
liked him full well, but to give up her maiden life for his
sake was as far from her thoughts as the east is from the
west. As yet she knew not the love of man, and had
vowed in her heart that she never would. Howbeit, such
things are not altogether within the power of mortals to
will or not to will, and Atalanta. like any other woman,
was destined one day to bow her proud head to the dust
before a man's great love, though the gods had not
ordained that Meleager should be the one to win her.
But more of that hereafter.
When the morrow dawned, great was the bustle and
confusion in the court of the palace, where all were to meet
together for the hunting of the boar. Attendants ran
this way and that to fetch and carry for their masters,
and, as the huntsman blew his horn, the hounds barked
impatiently, and strained, whining, at their leashes. At
length, when all was ready. Althaea with her maidens
came forth into the portico, and bade farewell to her
guests, her husband, her brothers, and to Meleager,
her son.
" God speed thee, my son," she said, as she looked
proudly on him, " and good luck to thy hunting."
Then she stood on the step and waved to them with a
smile as they turned to look back at her before the curve
of the roadway hid them from sight. But though a smile
was on her lips, her eyes were full of tears, and her heart
within her was dark with a dim foreshadowing of evil.
204
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
With a heavy step, she turned and went into the house,
and as she passed the altar by the hearth she stopped and
bowed her head.
" Great Artemis," she prayed, " have mercy and bring
my loved ones safely back to me this day."
Then she went to her chamber and drew forth from its
hiding-place the half-burnt brand on which her son's life
depended.
" His life, at any rate, is safe," she thought, " so long
as this brand is in my keeping."
And she hid it away again where she knew no one could
find it, and set to work restlessly, to while away the hours
as best she could, till the hunters should come home.
They, meanwhile, had gone their way up the steep
path which led into the mountains and deep into the heart
of the forest, where they knew their prey was lurking.
Soon they came upon the track of his hoofs leading to
the dry bed of a stream, where the rushes and reeds
grew high in the marsh-land, and the bending willows
cast their shadow over the spot he had chosen for his
lair. Here they spread the nets cautiously about, and
stationed themselves at every point of vantage, and,
when all was ready, let loose the hounds, and waited
for the boar to come forth from his hiding-place. Not
long did they have to wait. With a snort of rage he
rushed out. The breath from his nostrils came forth like
steam, and the white foam flew from his mouth and
covered his bristly sides and neck. Quick as lightning, he
made for the first man he could see, and the tramp of his
hoofs re-echoed through the woods like thunder as he
came upon the hard ground. As soon as he rushed out, a
205
Children of the Dawn
shower of missiles fell towards him from every side, but
some were aimed awry or fell too far or too short of him,
and those that touched him slipped aside on his tough
hide, as though they had been feathers instead of bronze ;
and he broke through the nets that had been spread to
catch him, and galloped away unharmed, whilst behind
him a hound lay dead among the reeds, pierced through
with his tusk, and two of the hunters, who stood in his
path, and had not been able to rush aside in time, lay
groaning on the ground with the iron mark of his hoof
upon them, and a gaping wound in the side of one. When
the rest saw that he had escaped them, they gave chase
with all speed, headed by Castor and Pollux, on their
white horses, and Atalanta close beside them, running
swiftly as the wind. Ahead of them the woodland track
gave a sudden turn to the left, and the boar, rushing
blindly forward, would have plunged into the under-
growth and bushes, and escaped beyond range of their
darts. But Atalanta, seeing what must happen, stopped
short in the chase. Quick as thought, she put an arrow
to the string, and let fly at the great beast ahead ; and
Artemis, true to her word, guided the arrow so that it
pierced him in the vital part behind the ear. With a
snort of pain and fury, he turned round upon the hunters
and charged down towards them as they came up from
behind, and great would have been the havoc he had
wrought among them but for Meleager. As the brute
bore down, he leaped lightly to one side, and, gathering
together all his strength, buried the spear deep into
the beast's black shoulder, and felled him to the earth
with the force of his blow. Immediately the others
206
ITifc*
As the brute bore down, Meleager buried the spear deep in his
shoulder.
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
gathered round, and helped to finish the work that
Meleager had begun, and soon the monster lay dead upon
the ground in a pool of his own blood. Then Meleager,
with his foot upon the boar's head, spoke to the hunters.
" My friends," he said, " I thank you all for the courage
and devotion you have shown this day. My land can
once more raise her head in joy, for the monster that
wrought such havoc in her fields lies dead here at my
feet. Yet the price of his death has not been light, my
friends." And they bowed their heads in silence, as
they remembered the two whom the boar had struck in
his rush, one of whom was now dead. " Yet those who
have suffered, have suffered gloriously, giving up them-
selves, as brave men must, for the sake of others, and
their names shall surely not be unremembered by us all.
Once more, my trusty comrades, I thank you, every man
of you. As for thee, lady," he continued, turning to
Atalanta, " while all have played their part, yet the glory
of the hunt is thine. But for thy sure hand and eye the
beast might yet be lurking in the forest. Wherefore, as
a token of our gratitude, I will give to thee the boar's
head as a trophy to do with as thou wilt."
At his words a murmur of p.pplause went round the
ring of them that listened. Only the voices of Toxeus
and Plexippus were not heard, for they were mad with
jealousy and wrath, and as soon as there was silence they
spoke.
" By wnat right," asked Toxeus, " shall one bear off
the trophy of a hunt in which each one of us has played
his part ?"
The insolence of his words and looks roused the angei
209 o
Children of the Dawn
of Melea.ger to boiling-point. All through the hunt tlio
brothers had shown scant courtesy to Atalanta, and now
their rudeness was past bearing.
" By the same right as the best man bears off the prize
in any contest," he answered quietly, though he was pale
with rage.
" Happy is that one who has first won the heart of the
judge, then," said Plexippus witli a sneer, as he looked at
Atalanta.
By the truth and the falsehood of liis words Meleagrr
was maddened past all bearing. Scarce knowing what
he did, he sprang upon him, and before anyone knew what
he was about, he had buried his hunting-knife in the
heart of Plexippus. When Toxeus saw his brother fall
back upon the grass, he sprang upon INIeleager, and for a
moment they swung backwards and forwards, held each
in the other's deadly grip. But Mcleager was the 3'ounger
and the stronger of the two, and soon Toxeus too lay
stretched upon the ground beside his brother, and a cry
of horror went through the crowd of those who stood by.
Pale and trembling, Mcleager turned towards them.
" My friends," he sajd, " farewell. You shall look
upon my face no more. Whether I slew them justly or
no, the curse of Heaven is upon me, and I know that
night and day the Furies will haunt my steps, because my
hand is red with the blood of my kinsmen. O fair fields
of Calydon, that I have loved and served all my days,
farewell for ever. Nevermore shall I look upon you, nor
my home on the steep hill-side, nor the face of the queen,
my mother ; but I must hide my head in shame far from
the haunts of men. As for thee, lady," he said, turning
210
Hunting the Calydonian l^oar
to Atalanta, " their taunt was false, yet true. Right
honourably didst thou win thy trophy, as all these here
will testify;" and he pointed to the hunters standing
round. " Yet my soul leapt with joy when I found that
into thine hand and none other's I might give the prize
of the hunt. Wherefore, think kindly on my memory,
lady, when I am far away, for a brave man's heart is in
thy keeping. Farewell."
And he turned and went away by the forest-path.
So surprised were all the company that no man moved
hand or foot to stop him. The first to speak was
Atalanta.
" Comrades," she said, " do you bear home the dead
and break the news as gently as may be to the queen, and
I will follow him, if perchance I can comfort him, for the
hand of Heaven is heavy upon him."
So firmly did she speak that no man found it in his
heart to withstand her ; and when she saw that they would
do as she bid, she ran swiftly down the path by which he
had gone, and disappeared from sight.
Meanwhile the day had been drawing towards its close,
and AlthcHea had come out into the portico to watch for
the return of the hunters. The rumour had reached the
city that the boar had been killed, but not without loss
among the gallant band that had gone out against him,
and with a heavy heart Althaea was waiting to know who
it was that had fallen. In time she saw them returning
home, and in their midst four litters carried on the
shoulders of some. When she saw them, her heart stood
still with fear, and as they came up and laid down the
litters before the doorway she was as one turned to
211 O 2
Cliildren of the Dawn
marble, and moved neither hand nor foot. When QEneus
the king saw her, he took her gently by the hand.
" Come within, lady," he said ; " the hunting of the
boar has cost us dear."
" Ah ! tell me the worst at once," she cried. " I can
bear it better so. The suspense is maddening me."
" Two of those who lie before thee are strangers who
have given themselves for us," he said. " One of them
is sore wounded, and the other is gone beyond recovery.
The other two. Althaea, are very near and dear to us —
Toxeus and Plexippus, thy brothers."
And he pointed to two of the bodies which lay side by
side with their faces covered before her. With a wild cry
she rushed to them, and drew back the coverings, and
gazed upon the faces that she loved so well. As she
looked, she saw the wounds that had killed them, and she
knew now that it was no wild beast that had slain them,
but the hand of man. Drawing herself up to her full
height, she looked round on those who stood by, and the
gleam of her eyes was terrible to see.
" Deceive me no more," she said, " but tell me how
these two came to fall by the hand of man."
" Lady," said ffineus, " they sought a quarrel with
one of our compan3^ and in anger he slew them both."
For a moment she was silent, then in a low voice, yet
one that all could hear, she spoke.
" My curse be upon him, whosoe'er he be. 0 Daughters
of Destruction, foul wingless Furies, by the blood of my
brothers yet wet upon his hand, I bid you track his foot-
steps night and day. May no roof cover his head nor
any man give him food or drink, but let him be a vaga-
212
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
bond on the face of the earth till just vengeance overtake
him. On thee, Qineus, do I lay this charge, and on my
son Meleager, to avenge the death of these my kinsmen,
who have been foully slain."
In vain did (Eneus try to stop her. She was as one
deaf to his entreaties. When she had finished, she looked
round for Meleager, and when she could not see him, the
blood froze in her veins.
" My son," she cried — " where is my son ?"
" Lady," said CEneus, " even now the wingless bearers
of thy curse are hunting him through the forest."
For a moment she swayed to and fro as though she
would fall.
" Ye gods, what have I done ?" she muttered.
Then with a cry she turned and rushed through the
doorway, across the deserted palace to her own chamber,
and barring the door behind her, she took from its hiding-
place the brand she had kept jealously so long. As on
the day when the Fates had come to her, a bright fire was
burning on the hearth, and deep into the heart of it she
pushed the log with both her hands.
" O my son, my son !" she cried ; " to think that I
should come to this ! But though the flame that devours
thy life burns out my heart within me, yet must I do it.
Thus only can I save thee from my curse. For the word,
once spoken, never dies, and the Furies, once aroused,
sleep never, night nor day. Wherefore Death alone can
give thee peace, O Meleager, my first-born and my
dearest."
CEneus meanwhile had followed her, and stood without,
asking her to open to him. But she cried out to him,
213
children of the Dawn
" All is well. I beg thee leave me. I would be alone."
So he left her ; and she stood watching the flames
slowly eat the wood away, and at last, when the log fell
apart in ashes, she sank down upon the floor, and witli
her son's life hers too went out for grief.
Meleager meanwhile had gone blindly forward along
the forest track, and from afar Atalanta followed him.
For a time he went onward, straight as an arrow, never
stopping, never turning. But when his mother's curse
was spoken, faster than the whirlwind the Furies flew
from the realms of endless night, and came and crouched
before his feet, loathsome shapes of darkness and of
horror. With a cry he turned aside, and tried to flee
from them, but wherever he looked they were there
before him, and he reeled backwards and forwards like a
drunken man. But soon his strength seemed to give
way, and he fell forward on the grass, and Atalanta ran
forward and took his head upon her knee. To her eyes
they two were alone in the heart of the forest, for the
foul shapes of the Furies he alone had seen. But now he
lay with his eyes closed, faint and weak, and she thought
that some time in the hunt he must have strained himself,
and lay dying of some inward hurt that no man could
heal, for on his body she could see not a scratch. So
she sat in the gathering gloom with his head upon her
lap. There was nought else she could do. Help lay so
far away that he would have died alone had she left
him. At last, when his heart beat so faint that she
thought it had stopped once for all, he opened his eyes
and looked up at her, and wlien he saw her the fr ar and
the madness died out of his face, and he smiled.
214
Hunting the Calydonian Boar
" The gods arc kind," he said. Once more he ck)sccl
his eyes, and Atalanta knew that he would open them
never again. Gently she laid him with his head on the
moss-covered roots of a tree, and sped away to the city
to bear the news of his death. In tlie darkness of night
they bore him through the forest, and all the people
gathered together and watched from the walls the torchlit
procession as it came slowly up the hill ; and the heart
of each man of them was heavy within him as he thought
that the hero and saviour of his country vva^, being carried
dead into the walls of his native town. By the side of
his mother they laid him, and burned above them the
torches of the dead, and the mourners, with lieads bowed
in grief, stood around.
Thus did it come to pass that the hunting of the boar
ended in grief for the land of Calydon, and Atalanta went
back to the Arcadian woodlands with a sore place in her
heart for Meleager, who had died happy because his head
was resting on her knee.
215
The Curse of Echo
|N tlie flowery groves of Helicon
Echo was once a fair nymph who,
hand in hand with her sisters,
sported along the green lawns
and by the side of the mountain-
streams. Among them all her
feet were the lightest and her
laugh the merriest, and in the
telling of tales not one of them
could touch her. So if ever any
among them were plotting mis-
chief in their hearts, they would say to her,
" Echo, thou weaver of words, go thou and sit beside
Hera in her bower, and beguile her with a tale that she
come not forth and find us. See thou make it a long one,
Echo, and we will give thee a garland to twine in thy
hair."
And Echo would laugh a gay laugh, which rang through
the grove.
" Wliat will you do when she tires of my tales ?" she
asked.
" When that time comes we shall see," said they.
So with another laugh she would trip away and cast
2l6
The Curse of Echo
herself on the grass at Hera's feet. When Hera looked
upon Echo her stern blow would relax, and she would
smile upon her and stroke her hair.
" What hast thou come for now, thou sprite ?" she
would ask.
" I had a great longing to talk with thee, great Hera,"
she would answei, " and T have a tale — a wondrous new
tale — to tell thee."
" Thy tales are as many as the risings of the sun,
Echo, and each one of them as long as an old man's
beard."
" The day is yet young, mother," she would say, " and
the tales I have told thee before are as mud which is
trampled underfoot by the side of the one I shall tell
thee now."
" Go to, then," said Hera, " and if it pleases me I will
listen to the end."
So Echo would sit upon the grass at Hera's feet, and
with her eyes fixed upon her face she would tell her tale.
She had the gift of words, and, moreover, she had seen
and heard many strange things which she alone could tell
of. These she would weave into romances, adding to
them as best pleased her, or taking from them at will ;
for the best of tale-tellers are those who can lie, but who
mingle in with their lies some grains of truth which they
have picked from their own experience. And Hera would
forget her watchfulness and her jealousies, and listen
entranced, while the magic of Echo's words made each
scene live before her eyes. Meanwhile the nymphs would
sport to their hearts' content and never fear her anger.
But at last came the black day of reckoning when Hera
217
Children of the Dawn
found out the prank which Echo had played upon her so
long, and the fire of her wrath flashed forth like lightning.
" The gift whereby thou hast deceived me shall be
thine no more," she cried. " Henceforward thou shall
be dumb till someone else has spoken, and then, even if
thou wilt, thou shalt not hold thy tongue, but must needs
repeat once more the last words that have been spoken."
" Alas ! alas !" cried the nymphs in chorus.
" Alas ! alas !" cried Echo after them, and could say no
more, though she longed to speak and beg Hera to for-
give her. So did it come to pass that she lost her voice,
and could only say that which others put in her mouth,
whether she wished it or no.
Now, it chanced one day that the young Narcissus
strayed away from his companions in the hunt, and when
he tried to find them he only wandered further, and lost
his way upon the lonely heights of Helicon. He was now
in the bloom of his youth, nearing manhood, and fair as
a flower in spring, and all who saw him straightway
loved him and longed for him. But, though his face was
smooth and soft as maiden's, his heart was hard as steel ;
and while many loved him and sighed for him, they could
kindle no answering flame in his breast, but he would
spurn them, and treat them with scorn, and go on his way,
nothing caring. When he was born, the blind seer
Teiresias had prophesied concerning him,
" So long as he sees not himself he shall live and be
happy."
And his words came true, for Narcissus cared for neither
man nor woman, but only for his own pleasure ; and be-
cause he was so fair that all who saw him loved him for
2l8
7' he Curse of Echo
his beauty, he fou id it easy to get from them what he
would. But he himself knew nought of love, and there-
fore but little of grief; for love at the best brings joy
and sorrow hand in hand, and if unreturned, it brings
nought but pain.
Now, when the nymphs saw Narcissus wandering alone
through the woods, they, too, loved him for his beauty,
and they followed him wherever he went. But because
he was a mortal they were shy of him, and would not
show themselves, but hid behind the trees and rocks so
that he should not see them ; and amongst the others
Echo followed him, too. At last, when he found he had
really wandered astray, he began to shout for one of his
companions.
" Ho, there ! where art thou ?" he cried.
" Where art thou ?" answered Echo.
When he heard the voice, he stopped and listened, but
he could hear nothing more. Then he called again.
" I am here in the wood — Narcissus."
" In the wood — Narcissus," said she.
" Come hither," he cried.
" Come hither," she answered.
Wondering at the strange voice which answered him,
he looked all about, but could see no one.
" Art thou close at hand ?" he asked.
" Close at hand," answered Echo.
Wondering the more at seeing no one, he went forward
in the direction of the voice. Echo, when she found he
was coming towards her, fled further, so that when next
he called, her voice sounded far away. But wherever she
was, he still followed after her, and she saw that he would
219
Children of the Dawn
not let her escape ; for wherever she hid, if he called; she
had to answer, and so show him her hiding-place. By
now they had come to an open space in the trees, where
the green lawn sloped down to a clear pool in the hollow.
Here by the margin of the water she stood, with her back
to the tall, nodding bulrushes, and as Narcissus came
out from the trees she wrung her hands, and the salt tears
dropped from her eyes ; for she loved him, and longed to
speak to him, and yet she could not say a word. When
he saw her he stopped.
" Art thou she who calls me ?" he asked.
" Who calls me ?" she answered.
" I have told thee, Narcissus," he said.
" Narcissus," she cried, and held out her arms to him.
" Who art thou ?" he asked.
" Who art thou ?" said she.
" Have I not told thee," he said impatiently, " Nar-
cissus ?"
" Narcissus," she said again, and still held out her
hands beseechingly.
" Tell me," he cried, " who art thou and why dost thou
call me ?"
" W^iy dost thou call me ?" said she.
At this he grew angry.
" Maiden, whoever thou art, thou hast led me a pretty
dance through the woods, and now thou dost nought but
mock me."
" Thou dost nought but mock me," said she.
At this he grew yet more angry, and began to abuse
her, but every word of abuse that he spoke she hurled
back at him again. At last, tired out with his wanderings
220
The Curse of Echo
and with anger, he threw himself on the grass by the pool,
and would not look at her nor speak to her again. For
a time she stood beside him weeping, and longing to speak
to him and explain, but never a word could she utter.
So at last in her misery she left him, and went and hid
herself behind a rock close by. After a while, when his
anger had cooled down somewhat, Narcissus remembered
he was very thirsty, and noticing for the first time the
clear pool beside him, he bent over the edge of the bank
to drink. As he held out his hand to take the water, he
saw looking up towards him a face which was the fairest
face he had ever looked on, and his heart, which never
yet had known what love was, at last was set on fire by
the face in the pool. With a sigh he held out both his
arms towards it, and the figure also held out two arms
to him, and Echo from the rock answered back his sigh.
When he saw the figure stretching out towards him and
heard the sigh, he thought that his love was returned, and
he bent down closer to the water and whispered, " I love
thee."
" I love thee," answered Echo from the rock.
At these words he bent down further, and tried to clasp
the figure in his arms, but as he did so, it vanished away.
The surface of the pool was covered with ripples, and he
found he was clasping empty water to his breast. So he
drew back and waited awhile, thinking he had been over-
hasty. In time, the ripples died away and the face
appeared again as clear as before, looking up at him
longingly from the water. Once again he bent towards
it, and tried to clasp it, and once again it fled from his
embrace. Time after time he tried, and always the same
221
children of the Dawn
thing happened, and at last he gave up in despair, and sat
looking down into the water, with the teardrops falling
from his eyes ; and the figure in the pool wept, too, and
looked up at him with a look of longing and despair.
The longer he looked, the more fiercely did the flame
of love burn in his breast, till at length he could bear it
no more, but determined to reach the desire of his heart
or die. So for the last time he leaned forward, and when
h? found tliat once again he was clasping the empty water,
he threw himself from the bank into the pool, thinking
tliat in the depths, at any rate, he would find his love.
But he found naught but death among the weeds and
stones of the pool, and knew not that it was his own face
he loved reflected in the water below him. Thus were
the words of the prophet fulfilled, " So long as he sees not
himself he shall live and be happy."
Echo, peeping out from the rock, saw all that had
happened, and when Narcissus cast himself into the pool,
she rushed forward, all too late, to stop him. When she
found she could not save him, she cast herself on the grass
by the pool and wept and wept, till her flesh and her
bones wasted away with weeping, and naught but her
voice remained and the curse that was on her. So to-
this day she lives, a formless voice haunting rocks and
caves and vaulted halls. Herself no man has seen since
the day Narcissus saw her wringing her hands for love of
him beside the r. Ddding bulrushes, and no man ever shall
see again. But her voice we all have heard repeating
our words whei we thought that no one was by ; and
though now she will say whatever we bid her, if once the
curse were removed, the cry of her soul would be,
222
for the last time ne leanea lorwara.
The Curse ot Echo
" Narcissus, Narcissus, my love, come back — come
back to me !"
By the side of the clear brown pool, on the grass that
Echo had watered with her tears, there sprang up a sweet-
scented flower, with a pure white face and a crown of
gold. And to this day in many a land men call that
flower " Narcissus," after the lad who, for love of his own
fair face, A'as drowned in the waters of Helicon.
2;?'
The Sculptor and the Image
|N the fair isle of Cyprus, long ago,
lived a young sculptor named
Pygmalion. As a child he had
been quick to see beauty in the
forms around him, and while he
found nothing better, he would
dig the clay in the garden and sit
for many a long hour happy in
the shade of the trees, modelling
horses and cows and human
figures, whilst his mother was
busied with her duties in the house. She, for her part,
was glad he had found something to amuse him and keep
him out of mischief, for he had no brothers or sisters to
play with, and his father was dead, so they two lived
alone togetlier in a great white house between the moun-
tains and the sea. From time to time she would come
down into the garden to look at his figures and praise
them ; for though they were childish and crude, and
sometimes grotesque, they were full of life and promise,
and being a wise woman, she knew that where Nature
points the way, it is well to make the road as smooth as
may be. At first she gave him no better material to
22O
The Sculptor and the Image
work with than the clay he could dig for himself, nor any
master to teach liim ; for she wished to sec how long he
would persevere, and how far he would get alone. There
are times, too, when a master can hinder more than he
can teach.
One day when lie was old enough, she took him down
to the city below, where the people were keeping the feast
of Aphrodite, and they watched the glad procession wind
through the streets, with its choruses of priests and
maidens, and little children scattering roses in the way.
With the rest of the folk they followed the procession up
the hill to the shining temple, and Pygmalion stood
beside his mother, and wondered at the tapering white
columns and the clouds of incense, and all the colours
and fair forms such as he had never seen before. Thft
picture of all these things he carried home in his mind,
and thought of them by day and dreamt of them by
night, till they became almost as real to him as the living
forms he saw around him. Then he worked more busily
than ever at his modelling in the garden ; but whereas
before he had been content to leave the figures he had
made, standing them out in rows for his mother to admire,
now he was no longer pleased with his work. He would
look at the figure he had made and compare it with the
image in his mind, and he saw that while his ideal was
fair and beautiful beyond measure, his work was clumsy
and rude. Then he would set to work and alter his
model. But whatever he did he was not satisfied, and
when his mother came down from the house to see him,
she found him with broken bits lying about him, and
never a finished figure to show her.
227 p 2
Children of the Dawn
Then she knew that one of two things had happened .
either he had come to the limit of his powers, and, as a
child will, had grown tired of a thing in which he could
make no further progress ; or else he had reached an age
when the mind sees fair forms which the hand cannot
fashion, and in disgust at his failure he had broken
up his figures, though they were better than what he had
done before, because they fell short of the ideal in his
mind.
" Thou art tired of playing with clay, my child," she
said ; " come with me, and I will see if we cannot find
something that will please thee better."
So she kept him with her, and taught him letters, and
read to him tales of the gods and heroes, till the child's
eyes grew big with wonder, and she saw that all she read
passed before his mind like a moving picture. She read
to him from the old Greek poets, tales of bravery and
might, of love and of adventure — tales, too, of cruelty
and bloodshed, jealousy and hate. But whatever she
read was beautiful, for the Greeks loved beauty above
all things else, and clothed their thoughts in fair forms
of words, so that even when they told of wickedness and
wrong they left no stain of ugliness upon the mind.
Pygmalion drank in eagerly all that was read to him, and
because he had within him the soul of a poet he under-
stood. The music of the words sank into his heart like
seed planted in a fertile soil, which springs up to forms
of loveliness and grace. So did the old tales bring before
his eyes shapes of beauty, and once again he began to go
down into the garden and try to mould them into figures
of clay. His mother watched him, and saw that he
228
The Sculptor and the Image
persevered, and tliat week by week his models grew more
beautiful and more true, as the image in his own mind
grew dearer. Then she knew that her reading had done
what she hoped it would do, and that the vague and
fleeting visions had become for him forms as clear as
those he saw around him.
" At least my son has the soul of an artist," she thought,
" but whether he has the hands and the fingers of one who
can do more than play with the clay, the gods alone can
tell. He shall have a master to teach him, and in time we
shall see whether he is one of the many in whom the divine
fire burns, but whose bodies are instruments too coarse to
carry out the thoughts of the soul, or whether he is one
of the few who are able to do that of which others vainly
dream."
So she gave him a master — a white-haired, venerable
man, in whom lived the spirit of the old Greek sculptors,
who had been the first to show mankind how stone and
marble might be wrought into shapes of beauty. He
taught the lad how to work in all kinds of stone and metal,
and to copy faithfully the forms he saw around him.
But he would not let him be satisfied with this alone,
for he saw that he had in him the making of better
things.
" Pygmalion," he would say, " in life there are many
things that are not fair, but in art all things should be
fair, and no art is truly great that is not beautiful. When
thou lookest on the world, see only that which is beauti-
ful ; thou, because thou hast the soul of a poet, wilt see
beauty where others cannot find it. Drink it in as a
thirsty man will drink from the wayside stream, then give
229
Children of the Dawn
forth to the world, in stone, copies of those ideal forms
thou seest with the eye of thy soul alone."
The child was an apt pupil ; he understood, and did as
his master bade him.
As the years flew by, he grew to be a man and a great
sculptor, so that in the temples of the gods and the
palaces of the rich his statues stood, and at the corners
of the streets, a joy to rich and poor. The years, wliich
had brought him to fame, had taken from him the white-
haired old man, his master, and the mother who had
helped to make him what he was ; and now he lived alone
in the great white house between the mountains and the
sea. But he was happy, perfectly happy, working all
day long at his images, and dreaming each night of fairer
forms that he would some day work into stone and
marble. His friends would come up from the town to
look at his work, or to buy, and would say to him,
" Pygmalion, art thou not lonely here, all alone ? Why
dost thou not take thee a wife, and rear up children to
be a comfort to thee in thine old age ?"
And he would answer, " No, I am not lonely, for my
art is to me both wife and children. I will never marry
one of the daughters of men."
Whatever they said, the}^ could not move him from his
resolve. But what his friends could not do Aphrodite
accomplished. When she saw there was one man among
the Cyprians who had reached the prime of life without
giving her a thought, or offering up one prayer before her
shrine, she was angry, and determined that he should
feel her power. So one night she sent into his mind the
vision of a maiden, who in loveliness surpassed all other
230
The Sculptor and the Image
forms lie had ever dreamed of, and she set his heart
aflame, so that he thought he saw a hving form before
him. He started up in his bed and hekl out his arms
towards her, but awoke with a start to find he was clasping
the empty air. Then'he knew it was only a vision he liad
seen ; but it haunted him, and he tossed restlessly from
side to side, unable to sleep. At last he could bear
it no more ; while the dawn was yet grey in the east
he rose from his couch and went to his workroom.
Gathering together his instruments and some clay, he set
to work to model the figure of his dream. On and on
he worked, scarce thinking of food or rest, and chose out
a block of fair white marble, which day by day grew into
shape beneath his fingers. In his hand there seemed a
magic it had never had before, so that his chisel never failed
nor slipped, till the marble stood transformed before him,
shaped into the image of a perfect woman, the vision of
his dream ; and he loved her as other men love a woman
in the flesh, with his whole heart and soul. But small
joy did he have of his love, for though he had fashioned
her with eyes that spoke to him of love and hands held
out towards him, yet when he spoke to her she could give
no answer, and when he clasped her in his arms her touch
was the cold, hard touch of marble. Then he tried to
put her away from his mind, and covered her over with
a curtain ; but when he was not looking at the marble
figure, her image was still present before his mind, and he
could not forget her. Day by day his love grew, till it
became a burning fever in his heart. He grew thin and
ill from want of food and rest, and could neither work
by day nor sleep by night. His friends, when they came
231
children of the Dawn
up to see him, marvelled at the change in him ; and when
they asked to see what new work he had done he would
answer,
" My friends, I have no new work to ^liow you. The
cunning has departed from my hand. Never again
shall I fashion the white marble into shapes of beauty."
They wondered what had come over him, for the
image that had been his undoing he never showed them,
nor let them know what was troubling his heart. But
he made a niche for her in his chamber where the light
fell upon her from the window, and at night when he
could not sleep he would sit with his arms clasped about
her ankles and his head resting on her feet. Her face
would look down on him full of pity and love, pale
and beautiful in the cold white light of the moon. When
the day dawned and the cloudlets clustered red about
the rising sun, the warm rays would fall upon her giving
to her some hue of life, and Pygmalion's heart would
beat high with the hope that a miracle had been wrought,
and that his love at last had kindled a soul akin to his own
in the marble statue before him. With a cry he would
put his arms about her, but still she remained a cold,
hard, unresponsive stone. So day by day and week by
week he grew more wretched ; for there is nought like a
passionate love which is unreturncd, and whicli never can
be returned, to take out the life from a man.
At last Aphrodite had compassion on him, when she
saw that he had suffered as nnicli and more tlum most
men at her hands, and that he no longer held her in dis-
dain. One night Pygmalion, as usual, had been kneeling
before the statue with his arm clasped about her feet, till,
232
On the breath of the night wind Aphrodite came in, and she kissed
the statue on the lips.
The Sculptor and the Image
tired out with longing, he had fallen asleep. On the
breath of the night wind Aphrodite came in, and she
kissed the statue on the lips.
" Let love kindle life," she said. " Live, Galatea,
thou milk-white maid, and bring joy to the heart of
Pygmalion."
Then she stole forth again through the moonlit case-
ment, and Pygmalion slept on unconscious. In the
morning the sunlight streamed in through the window,
and fell full upon his face. With a start he awoke, and
looked up at the statue, and to his sun-dazed eyes it
seemed to move.
" O Aphrodite," he cried, " mock me not ! Thou hast
deceived me so often."
In despair he cast his arms about the image, certain that
once again he would find her a cold white stone. But
lo ! instead of unyielding marble he was clasping in his
arms a living woman. Her arms were about his neck,
her lips on his lips, and she looked into his eyes with a
fire that answered the fire in his own.
" At last, at last," said he, " my love has prevailed !"
" Even in the heart of a stone, Pygmalion," she said,
" love can kindle love. My form is the work of thy
hand, and my soul is the child of thy love. As long as
stone can last, so long shall my body last ; and as long as
thy love can live, so long shall my soul live also."
" My love," he said, " will live for ever."
" Then for ever," said she, " my soul will live with
thine."
So as husband and wife the}/ lived together for many
a long year. The cunning came back to Pygmalion's
235
Children of the Dawn
hand, and many a fair statue did he make for the people of
Cyprus.. In time he died in a green old age. His spirit
lied away to the dwelling-place of souls, and with him the
spirit of Galatea, his wife ; and her body returned to the
form in which Pygmalion first had made her — a fair white
marble image. In the garden where he, in his childhood,
had learned to model the clay, the Cyprians buried him,
building a fair tomb over him, and in a niche they placed
the statue of Galatea. So the words she had spoken when
she came to life were fulfilled. Her form lived as long
as stone could live, and her soul lived as long as Pyg-
malion could love her. And which of us can say that this
could not be for ever, or that they do not still live in the
light of each other's love in the dwelling-place of souls ?
236
The Divine Musician
ORTH-WEST of the ^gean,
where the cliffs of Pehon rise
sheer out of the sea, dwelt long
ago Cheiron, the centaur, the
wisest of living things, half man,
half horse. Many brothers had
he, who in form were like himself,
but their hearts within were hard
and wild, and because of their un-
tamed passions and their cruelty
and lust they were hated alike
by gods and men. But Cliciron was gentle and mild_
He knew all manner of strange things ; he could prophesy,
and play upon the lyre, and cure men of their hurts by
means of healing herbs. He was brave withal, and
had been in many a bloody fight, and knew the arts of
war full as well as the arts of peace. Wherefore the old
Hellenes called him Cheiron, the Better One, and sent up
their sons to live with him that they might be taught all the
things which man should know. In a hollow cave on the
mountain-side he had his home. Far up above him the
snow-capped peaks of Pelion kept watch over the nestling
townships of the plain, and far, far below the waves of
237
children of the Dawn
the Mgea.n washed without ceasing on the rocks of that
pitiless coast, now soft and soothing as the song a mother
sings to her child, now loud and boisterous beneath the
lash of the storm-wind, when the seabirds fly screaming
to the shelter of the shore. All around were dark forests
of chestnut, pine and oak, where many a fierce beast
had his lair. In the branches ()f (\vi trees the wild
birds built their nests and filled the dark glades with song.
About the mouth of the cave the ground was trampled
hard beneath the tread of many feet, and paths led this
way and that, some into the heart of the forests, others
down the steep cliff to the shore.
Every morning at sunrise a troop of boys and youths
would come forth from the cave, and, dividing into groups,
would go their several ways to fish or to hunt, or to follow
the course of some stream to its unknown source in the
mountains. Sometimes Cheiron himself would go with
them, if he thought they had need of his help ; but more
often he left them to their own devices, to follow each one
his own bent as Nature prompted him. In the evening
they would come home and tell him of their doings in the
day ; and he would praise or blame them, according as they
had done well or ill, and show them how they might do
better another time. Then they would go to their
couches of dried moss and leaves, and sleep the deep
sleep of youth and health, while the cool night breeze
blew in upon their faces from the mouth of the cave, and
put fresh life and strength into their tired limbs. In the
winter-time, when the night was longer than the day, and
the snow lay deep upon the hills, they would light a great
fire in front of the cave with logs they had stored in the
238
The Divine Musician
summer months, and Cheiron would take his lyre and
sing to them of all things in heaven and earth, while they
lay round about and listened. The songs which he
sang to them then they never forgot, because Cheiron
was wise, and spoke to their souls in his singing. So
they laid up his songs in their hearts ; and many a long
year after, when they w'ere grown men far away, and some
danger or difficulty stood in their path, the drift of his
teaching would come back to them in the words of a
song, and their hearts would grow brave and strong once
more to act worthily of their boyhood's sunny days on
Pelion. Many a hero whose name still lives among men
had been trained by Cheiron in his youth — Peleus, who
married a goddess, and Achilles his son, the swiftest and
bravest of mortal men ; and Jason, the leader of the
Argonauts ; and Asklepios, the mighty healer ; and, not
least among them, Orpheus, the greatest of Greek
musicians and mystics, whose tale I will tell you now.
One day, as the shades of evening were beginning to
fall, Cheiron stood before the mouth of the cave waiting
for the lads to come home. Sooner than he expected he
saw one of them far away coming down a path from the
mountains, and he marvelled that he should return so
soon and alone. As he came nearer Cheiron saw that he
walked with his eyes upon the ground, deep in thought.
Every now and again he stopped and looked round
upon the peaceful hillsides stretching calm and smiling
in the golden glow of the evening ; and when he had
gazed for a moment he sighed, as though he would breathe
into his soul the beauty he saw around him, and then
went on his way once more with his eyes on the ground,
239
children of the Dawn
So he walked till he came close to the cave and saw
Cheiron standing in the entrance. Then he ran up to him
and put his hand upon his shoulder.
" My father," he cried, " look round upon the hills ; hast
thou ever seen them so fair as they have been this day ?"
Cheiron smiled at his words.
" Orpheus," he said, " the fair face of the earth changes
but little. In the soul of man it lies to look upon her
and see her beauty or to be blind."
" Till this day I have been blind, Cheiron," he said.
" And who has lifted the veil from thine eyes, my
son ?" asked his master.
" I know not," he said. " But this morning, while yet
it was dark, there came to me a strange unrest and a
longing to be alone. So I crept forth from the cave
whilst you were all sleeping, and climbed up the moun-
tain-side— up, up, in the grey light before dawn, till I
came to the place where the white snow lies like a cloak
about the shaggy shoulders of Pelion. There I left the
track of my footsteps where no feet but mine had trod,
and climbed up upon a boulder and looked out across
the sea. And I saw the great sun rise out of the east.
As I looked it seemed that I beheld the face of God ;
and as the snow and the sea and the forests awoke to
life in the light of His glory, my soul awoke within me.
All the day long I wandered about the forests and hills ;
and I saw the beauty of the trees and the grass, and the
grace of the wild deer as he bounded over the rocks, as
I had never seen it before. The wonder of this day
lies like a burden on my heart that I fain would ease,
yet I have no words to tell of it."
240
The Divine Musician
Then Cheiron took up the lyre which was lying by his
side and passed his lingers gently over the strings.
" Orpheus," he said, " many a long year ago, wlicn
thou wast a little lad, thy mother Calliope brought thee
to me. And she put thy hand in my hand, and said :
' Cheiron, make a man of my son. Make him brave and
fearless and strong, a worthy companion of tlie noble
lads thou hast around thee. When the right time
comes I will breathe my spirit upon him, and he shall
be great, as few in this world are great.' This day she
has kept her word, Orpheus. She has breathed her spirit
upon thee, and has opened the eyes of thy soul and made
them see."
" Who is my mother Calliope ?" asked the lad.
" She is the Fair-voiced One who speaks through the
lips of mortals by music and song, Orpheus. With her
sisters, she dwells for ever by the sunlit streams of
Helicon, where they follow in the footsteps of Apollo,
their lord, across the green lawns and the flowery
meadows. All knowledge, all music of sound and of
words, comes to men by their gift — those nine great
sisters, the Muses. Happy art thou to be her son. Take
now this lyre from mine hand. Ease the burden of
thy soul in song, and learn how great is the gift she has
given thee."
So Orpheus took the lyre from his master, and struck
the chords, as all the lads who dwelt with Cheiron knew
full well how to do. But instead of the old songs that he
had learnt from his childhood, a new song came to his
lips, and he sang as he had never sung before. Far
away upon the hillsides his companions heard his voice,
241 Q
Children of the Dawn
and they stopped upon their homeward way to Hsten, as
the evening breeze bore the sound to their ears. When
they knew that the voice came from home, they hastened
on and drew silently near, that no sound might disturb
the singer, and throwing themselves upon the ground at
his feet, forgot their weariness and hunger as they
listened. On and on he sang, forgetful of all else but
his song, till the red glow of the evening died away in
the west and the stars shone pale in the twilight.
There was a strange magic about his music which drew
all living things to his feet, as a magnet draws the cold
heart of steel. From the woods and the forests they came,
and from the bare hillsides — the lion, the leopard and
the trembling fawn. The snake came forth from his
hiding-place, the rabbit from his hole, and the wild
birds wheeled about his head and settled on the brow
of the cave. The very trees seemed to hear him, as they
swayed their heads to and fro to the rhythm of his song.
As he looked round upon his comrades whilst he sang,
his heart grew strong within him, for he felt that a strange
new power had been born in his soul, which could bow
the heads of men beneath his will as the wind bows the
rushes by the stream. So he sang on as the twilight
deepened into night, and all the stars of heaven came
forth to listen, till at length his song died upon his lips,
like a breeze lulled to rest at sunset. For a moment
the creatures lay spellbound around him ; then one by
one they crept back to their homes, with their fears and
their hatreds tamed for a while by the magic of his
singing. And his companions crowded round him with
words of praise and eager questions,
242
The Divine Musician
"Who taught thee thy magic song, Orpheus?" they cried.
" The sunrise and the snow," he answered, " and the
teaching of Cheiron, and my happy days with you, and
the spirit of my mother CalHope — all these have taught
me my song."
But his answer was a dark saying to them, and not
one of them understood it, save Cheiron. He knew
that it is the commonest things in life that are the
material of all that is beautiful and fair, just as a temple
may be built of common stone ; but that the children of
the Muses are few, who can by music and art open the
blind hearts of men to see.
Thus did the gift of song fall upon Orpheus, so that he
became the greatest of all singers upon earth. All day
long he would wander about the woods and the hills,
and tame the heart of every living thing with the magic
of his voice.
One day it chanced that he came into a wood where
he had never been before, and he followed a grass-grown
track which led to the mouth of a cave. On one side of
the cave stood a tall beech-tree, whose moss-covered
roots offered a tempting seat, and close by a clear stream
gushed forth from the rocks. He drank eagerly of the
water, for he had wandered far and was thirsty ; and when
he had quenched his thirst, he sat down on the roots of
the beech-tree and began his song. As before, the wild
things gathered about him, and crouched at his feet,
tame and silent, as he sang ; and from the shadow of the
cave crept a wood-nymph, and lay upon the grass, with
her chin between her hands, looking up into his face.
For a time he did not see her, so silently had she come ;
243 Q 2
Children of the Dawn
but at last the power of her eyes drew his eyes upon
her, and he turned his head and looked at her. When
he saw her, his arm fell useless by his side and his voice
died away in his throat, for he had never looked upon
anyone so fair. Her hair was black as the storm-
cloud, but her eyes were blue as the summer sky, and
she lay like a white flower in the grass at his feet. For
a long moment he gazed into her face without speaking,
as she gazed back at him, and at last he spoke.
" Who art thou, maiden ?" he asked.
" I am Eurydice," she answered.
" Thy hair is black as midnight, Eurydice," he said,
" and thine eyes are bright as the noonday."
" Are not midnight and noonday fair to thine eyes ?"
she asked.
" They are fair indeed, but thou art fairer."
" Then I am well content," she said.
" I know not thy name nor thy face, Eurydice," said
he, " but my heart beats with thy heart as though we
w'ere not strangers."
" When two hearts beat together, Orpheus, they are
strangers no more, whether they have known each other
all their days or have met as thou and I have met. Long
ago the fame of thee, and of thy singing, reached mine
ears, but I hardened my heart against thee, and said,
' It is an idle rumour, and he is no better than other
men, before whose face I flee.' But now the gods have
brought thy steps to the hollow cave where I dwell, and
thou, by thy magic, hast drawn me to thy feet, so that
I, who doubted tliy power, must follow thee whither-
soever thou wilt."
244
From the shadow of the cave crept a wood-nymph, and lay upon thf-
grass.
The Divine Musician
" Shall I sing thee a song, Eurydice — the song thou
hast sown in my heart ?"
" Yes, sing me that song," she answered.
So he struck the chords of his lyre and sang her the
song that was born of her beauty. One by one the
wild creatures stole back to the forest, for that song was
not for them, and they two were left alone beneath the
spreading boughs of the beech-tree. As he sang, Eury-
dice crept closer to him, till her head rested on his knee
and her long black hair fell in a cloud about his feet.
As she drew nearer his voice grew lower, till it became
but a whisper in her ear. Then he laid his lyre on the
ground beside him and put his arms about her, and their
hearts spoke to each other in the tongue that knows not
sound nor words.
So it came to pass that Orpheus returned no more to
dwell with Cheiron and his companions in the hollow
cave below Pelion, but lived with Eurydice, his wife,
in her cave in the heart of the forest. But he never
forgot his boyhood's happy days, nor all that Cheiron had
done for him. He would come often to see him and take
counsel with him, and sing to the lads his magic song.
For a few short years he lived a life the gods might
envy, till the dark days came, when not even music
could bring comfort to his heart. For one day, as he
roamed with Eurydice through the dark forest, it chanced
that she unwittingly trod upon a snake, and the creature
turned upon her and pierced her white foot with
its venomous fang. Like liquid fire the poison ran
through her veins, and she lay faint and dying in his
arms.
247
children of the Dawn
" O Eurydice," he cried, " Eurydice, open thine eyes
and come back to me !"
For a moment the agony of his voice awoke her to
hfe.
" Orpheus," she said, " beloved, this side of the river
of death we can dwell together no more. But love, my
dear one, is stronger than death, and some day our love
shall prevail, never again to be conquered."
When she had spoken her head sank down upon his
breast, and her spirit fled away, to return no more. So
he bore the fair image of his wife in his arms, and laid
her in the depths of the cave that had been their home.
Above her head he placed a great pine torch, and all the
long night watches he sat with his arms about her and
his cheek against her cheek ; and his heart groaned
within him with a grief too great for words. Ere the day
dawned he kissed for the last time the lips that could
ipeak to him never again, and laid back her head on a
pillow of leaves and moss. Then he pulled down the
earth and stones about the mouth of the cave, so that
no one could find the opening, and left for evermore the
home he had loved so well. Onward he walked in the
grey light of dawn, little caring where he went, and struck
the chords of his lyre to tell all the earth of his grief.
The trees and the flowers bowed down their heads as
they listened, the clouds of heaven dropped tears upon
the ground, and the whole world mourned with him for
the death of Eurydice his wife.
" Oh, sleep no more, ye woods and forests !" he sang,
" sleep no more, but toss your arms in the sighing wind,
and bow your heads beneath the sky that weeps with
248
The Divine Musician
me. For Eurydice is dead. She is dead. No more shall
her white feet glance through the grass, nor the field-
flowers shine in her hair. But, like last year's snow,
she is melted away, and my heart is desolate without her.
Oh ! why may the dried grass grow green again, but my
love must, be dead for ever ? O ye woods and forests,
sleep no more, but awake and mourn with me. For
Eurydice is dead ; she is dead, dead, dead !"
So he wandered, making his moan and wringing the
hearts of all who heard him, with the sorrow of his
singing. And when he could find no comfort upon earth
he bethought him of the words of his wife :
" This side of the river of death we can dwell together
no more. But love, my dear one, is stronger than
death, and some day our love shall prevail, never again
to be conquered."
He pondered the words in his heart, and wondered
what she might mean.
" If love is stronger than death," he thought, " then
my love can win her back. If I can charm the hearts of
all living things with the magic of my song, I may charm,
too, the souls of the dead and of their pitiless king, so that
he shall give me back Eurydice, my wife. I will go down
to the dark halls of Hades, and bring her up to the fair
earth once more."
When hope was thus born anew in his heart he grew
brave for any venture, and pressed forward on his way
till he came to the place men called the mouth of Hades.
Nothing daunted by the tales of horror they told him,
he entered the fearsome cave, which led deep down into
the bowels of the earth, where noisome vapours choked the*
249
Children of the Dawn
breath in his throat, and dark forms crouched in hi? path
and fled shrieking before him, till at last he stood by the
shores of the ninefold Styx, that winds about the realms
of the dead. Then he shouted aloud to Charon, the ferry-
man, to row him across in his boat. When the old man
heard his voice, he stopped midway across the stream.
" Who is it that calls me in the voice of the living ?"
he asked.
" It is Orpheus," he answered. " I am come to fetch
back Eurydice, my wife."
But the old man laughed, and his laugh cut the heart
of Orpheus like a knife.
" O beardless innocent," he said, " who gave thee
power over life and death ? I tell thee that many have
stood by the shores of this stream and entreated me to
take them across, that they might bring their dear ones
back with them. But no living soul shall sit in my boat,
nor shall the dead, who have sat in it once, ever return
to sit in it again. Go back to the earth, young man,
and when thy time has come, thou too shalt sit in my
boat, never fear."
" That time has come, Charon," he said, " and I shall
sit in thy boat this day."
Raising his lyre, he struck the chords, and his love
taught him the tune and the words to sing. Stead-
fastly he gazed at Charon, and the magic of his singing
drew the old man towards him as surely as though the
rope of the boat were in his hands. Without ceasing his
song, he took his place in the stern, and in time to the
music Charon dipped his oars in the stream, so that the
boat swung over the river as it had never swung before.
250
The Divine Musician
As it stranded in the shallow water, Orpheus leaped
lightly to shore.
" Farewell for the present, Charon," he cried ; " we
shall meet again ere long."
He hastened on his way, playing and singing his
magic song. Resting on his pole, the old man looked
after him with wonder in his heart, and shaded his eyes
with his hand. For a ray of the sun seemed to shine for
a moment in that cold grey land as Orpheus passed by.
The pale flowers of hell tossed their heads to and fro,
as though the west wind played through their leaves,
and their colour and their scent came back to them once
more. With a sigh, Charon breathed in the perfume
from the air, and tossed back the grey locks from his
brow and straightened his drooping shoulders.
" It is long since I smelt the fresh smell of the earth,"
he muttered. " Who is this young god, who can bring
light to the darkness and life to the realms of the dead ?"
So till Orpheus passed out of sight and the sound of
his singing grew faint in the distance Charon stood look-
ing after him, and then with a sigh he sat down in his
boat and bent to his oars once more.
And Orpheus went on his way, with hope beating high
in his heart, till he came to the portals of the palace of
Death. On the threshold lay Cerberus, the three-headed
hound of hell, who night and day kept watch beside the
gate to see that no one passed in save those who had
died upon earth, and that those who had passed him
once should pass him never again. When he heard
Orpheus coming, he sprang to his feet and snarled and
growled and bared his sharp white fangs ; but as the
251
children of the Dawn
strains of music grew clearer he sank silent to the ground,
and stretched his three great heads between his paws.
Orpheus, as he passed by, bent down and stroked
him, and the fierce beast Hcked his hands. So did he
enter into the gates of Death, and passed through the
shadowy halls, till he stood before the throne of Pluto,
the king. A dim and awful form did he sit, wrapped
about in darkness and mist, and on his right hand sat
Persephone, his wife, whom he stole from the meadows
of Sicily. When he saw Orpheus his eyes gleamed like
the gleam of cold steel, and he stretched forth his gaunt
right arm towards him.
" What dost thou here, Orpheus ?" he asked.
" I am come to ask thee a boon, O king," he answered.
" There be many that ask me a boon," said Pluto,
" but none that receive it."
" Yet none have stood before thee in the flesh, as I
do, O king, to ask their boon."
" Because thou hast trespassed unlawfully on my
domain, dost thou think I will grant thee thy boon ?"
" Nay ; but because my grief is so great that I have
dared what none have dared before me, I pray thee to
hear me."
Without waiting for an answer, he struck his lyre and
sang to them the story of his life, and of how he had
loved and lost Eurydice. The eyes of the pale queen
brightened when she heard him, and the colour came
back to her cheeks, as the song brought back to her mind
the days of her girlhood and the sunlit meadows oi
Sicily. Then a great pity filled her heart for Eurydice,
vvho had left the green earth for ever, and might not
2S2
The Divine Musician
return, as she herself did, in the spring-time, hving only
the dark winter months below. As Orpheus ceased his
song she laid her hand upon her husband's.
" My lord," she said, " grant his boon, I pray thee.
He is brave and true-hearted, and he sings as no man has
ever sung before."
But the stern king sat with his head upon his hand
and eyes cast down, deep in thought. At length he
spoke, and his voice was soft and kind.
" Orpheus," he said, " thou hast touched my heart
with thy singing. Yet it lies not with me to grant thee
thy boon."
" But if the queen, thy wife, may return to the earth
in the spring-time, may not Eurydice, too, come back at
thy command ?" asked Orpheus.
" The ways of the gods are not the ways of mortals,
Orpheus ; they walk by paths you may not tread. Yet,
though I have no power to give thee back Eurydice, thou
mayest win her thyself if thou hast the strength."
" How may that be ?" cried Orpheus. " For the
sake of Eurydice I have strength for any venture."
" No strength of the flesh can win her, Orpheus, but
the strength of a faith unfaltering. I will send for her,
and when thou seest her stand within the hall, holding out
her hands towards thee, thou must harden thy heart, and
turn and flee before her by the way thou camest. For
the love of thee she will follow, and she will entreat thee to
look at her and give her thy hand over the stony way.
But thou must neither look at her nor speak to her. One
look, one word, will be thine undoing, and she must vanish
from thine eyes for ever. The spell of thy song still
253
Children of the Dawn
rests upon the guardians of my kingdom, and they will
let thee and thy wife pass by. But think not by word
nor deed to help her. Alone she passed from life to
death, and alone she must pass back from death to life.
Her love and thy faith can be the only bond between
you. Hast thou the strength for this ?"
" My lord," cried Orpheus, " 'tis but a small thing to
ask of a love like mine."
" It will be harder than thou thinkest," the king
replied. " Nevertheless, I will call Eurydice."
He signed to a messenger to fetch her. In a few
moments he returned, and behind him came Eurydice
from the garden of Death. The dank dew hung heavy
about her, and she walked with her eyes upon the
ground, while her long black hair hid the paleness of
her face. Thus did she come into the centre of the hall,
and, not speaking or moving, Orpheus gazed upon her
till she raised her eyes and saw him. With a cry she sprang
towards him.
" Orpheus !" she said.
But, remembering the words of the king, he turned and
fled before her through the misty halls and out by the
great gate, where Cerberus lay tamed with his heads
between his paws. And he tried to shut his ears to hei
pleading as they sped across the plain, but every word
that she said cut his heart like a stab, and more than once
he almost turned to answer her, so piteous was her cry.
" Oh, Orpheus, what have I done ? Why dost thou
flee from me ? Oh, give me one word, one look, to say
thou lov'st me still."
But he remained firm in his resolve, and sat himself in
254
''Orpheus," she cried, in her despair, "thy hand."
The Divine Musician
Charon's boat, and steeled his lioart, whilst she sat beside
him, but could not touch him. For he was a living soul,
and she was a shade, and might not touch him if she
would. But still she pleaded with him.
" O Orpheus, my heart is starving for one look one
word. I know thou lovest me, but oh ! to see thine eyes
tell me so and hear thy lips say it."
He longed to turn and clasp her in his arms, and tell
her how he loved her better than life. But still he re-
frained, and hugged his lyre close to his breast in his
agony ; and as soon as the boat touched the shore he
leapt out and hastened up the steep, dark path, whilst
the sweat stood out in drops upon his brow, so hard was
the way and so stifling the air. Behind him followed
Eurydice, and if the way was hard for him, for her it was
ten times harder. She had no strength for words, and
only by her sobs did Orpheus know she was following still.
So they went on, till at length the air grew pure and fresh,
and the daylight shone before them at the mouth of the
cave. With eager steps Orpheus pressed forward, longing
for the moment when he might clasp his wife in his arms
and speak to her once more. But as the way grew easier
for him, it grew harder for Eurydice ; since no one may
pass from death to life without sore travail and pain. So
she struggled and stumbled after him, and her heart gave
way within her as she felt she could follow no farther.
" Orpheus !" she cried in her despair, " thy hand."
Ere reason could restrain him, his heart had answered
her sudden cry, and he turned and held out his arms to
help her. All too late he knew his folly. For even as he
was about to hold her she slipped away, and as smoke is
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children of the Dawn
borne away on the wings of the wind, so was she borne
away, helpless and lifeless, to the realms of the dead, and
her voice floated back like the echo of a dream,
" Farewell, Orpheus. Alas ! Alas ! farewell !"
So for the second time did he lose Eurydice ; and if his
grief was great before, it was ten times greater now. For
as the cup of joy had touched his lips it had slipped from
his hand and broken, and he knew that the chance the
gods had given him once they would give him never again,
but that all his life long he must dwell in loneliness with-
out Eurydice his wife. Blindly he went forward with his
lyre beneath his arm. The strings hung broken and life-
less, for the rocks and thorns had torn them as he passed
on his way up from Hades. But he heeded not nor made
any effort to mend them, for the strings of his heart hung
broken too, and the music in his soul was dead. In black
despair he wandered on, and the sunshine to his eyes was
darkness, and the fair forms of earth were sadder than
the phantoms of Hades had seemed to him while hope
still beat in his breast. As a colt that has wandered far
by unknown paths returns at last surely to his homestead,
so did his feet carry him back to Pelion and the dear home
of his boyhood. Not till he stood in the path which led
up to the cave did he know where he had come ; but when
he saw the mouth of the cave before him his eyes were
opened once more, and a faint joy stole into his heart as
he went on and sat down on a stone outside. All was
silent and deserted, and he sat for awhile alone with his
own sad thoughts, till he felt a touch upon his shoulder,
and looked up into the face of Cheiron standing beside
him.
258
The Divine Musician
" O ray master !" he cried.
" My son, thou hast suffered," said Cheiron.
" I have been down into Hades, Cheiron," he answered.
" My child," said Cheiron, " I know it all."
He gazed upon him, his great mild eyes full of pity,
and Orpheus gazed back at him, and knew that he
understood, though how he had learnt his tale he could
not tell. His heart drew comfort from the sympathy
that understood without words, and was softened as the
parched earth is softened by rain, so that he took
Cheiron's hands between his, and bowed his head upon
them, and wept.
Thus it came to pass that he returned to his boyhood's
home, and dwelt once more with Cheiron and his lads
beneath the shade of snow-capped Pelion. In time the
bitterness of his grief was purged away, and he remem-
bered Eurydice as something bright and fair that had
been woven into the web of his life while yet it was young,
and which could never be taken away. As he listened
again to the old songs which Cheiron had sung to him and
his comrades when they were lads, the fire and the eager-
ness of his youth were born once more within him. Wlien
he saw the elder ones go forth into the world and little
lads brought up to take their place with Cheiron, he felt
how life stands ever beckoning and calling to those in
whose veins the blood of gods and heroes runs, and they go
forth to rule and to serve, to fight and to labour, in answei
to the call which the foolish do not hear. So one morning
he took his lyre, which for many a long day had lain silent,
and putting fresh strings for the ones that were broken,
he passed his fingers lovingly over them as of old. And
259 R 2
children of the Dawn
the spirit of music sprang to life once more in his heart,
as the flowers spring to Hfe when the winter is past, so
that once again he could charm every li\'ing thing by the
magic of his song.
When Cheiron knew that his power had come back to
him he was glad.
" Orpheus," he said, " thou hast conquered. A
weaker man than thou art would have lain crushed
beneath the foot of adversity. But those who bravely
rise again are stronger than before."
" Master," he said, " when I saw the broken strings of
my lyre and felt my voice choked within me, I said,
' With the breaking of this string the music dies and
becomes a voiceless echo of the past, just as now Eurydice
is a shade in the shadowy land while her body is dust upon
earth,' and lo ! ere the strings were mended or the voice
grew strong again, the soul of song lived once more in
my heart, as on the day when first my mother Calliope
breathed her spirit upon me. If music may live with-
out sound or words, may not the soul live too without
bones and flesh ? This is a mystery, and I must seek the
wide world for an answer."
And Cheiron smiled upon him.
" It is good to seek," said he, " though thou find no
answer in the end."
" Yet will I find an answer," said Orpheus.
So when the call of Jason came soon after, for him to
sail with the heroes in the good ship Aygo for the finding
of the Golden Fleece, and to be their minstrel on the
stormy seas, he went down right gladly to lolchos.
At the sound of his song the gallant ship leapt over the
260
The Divine Musician
stones and into Hie sea like a charger ready for battle,
though before she had been too heavy to move. So he
sailed with the heroes on their perilous venture, filling
their hearts with courage and hope, and took them safely
through many a danger by the magic of his song. But
though many had set out, there were few that returned,
and he saw the wreck of many a promising life on that
terrible voyage, but found no answer to his quest. He
bowed his head in reverence to the memory of those who,
for the sake of adventure and honour and a noble name,
had poured forth their lives like water on a thirsty soil,
knowing full well when they set forth that the danger
would be for all, but the prize and the dear home-coming
for few.
So, as soon as might be, he set forth again to wander
the wide world alone with his lyre. Some say he went
to Egypt, others say to Crete, but wherever he went he
found at last the answer to his quest. For he found
the great god Dionysos, the god of many names —
Bromios, Bacchos, Zagreus — who fills men's minds with
inspiration and divine madness, so that they become one
with him and with the life that lives for ever behind the
forms of things that die. He ate of the flesh of the mystic
bull, which is the god himself, and to the sound of his lyre
the Maenads danced over the mountains and through un-
trodden woods, and held to their breasts young lions, and
cubs of the untamed wolf. Far away from towns and
cities, where custom and language raise barriers between
man and man, on the breast of the untouched earth they
danced their mystic dance, and became one with Bacchos
and with all things that have life in the present, or have
261
Children of the Dawn
lived in the past. There Orpheus found Eurydice again
in the communion of soul with soul, and learnt what she
had meant when she said, " Some day our love shall
prevail, never again to be conquered." So it came to
pass that he became the priest of Bacchos, the mystic
god, who is one with Life and Love. And he wrote upon
tablets the rule of life, by which, through purity and initia-
tion, men may become one with the god, and when they
have been purified by birth and re-birth in many diverse
forms, they may win, because they are one with him, the
immortal life that changeth not, like the life of the stars
in heaven.
The tale goes of Orpheus that at last he came to Thrace
and the wild mountain lands that lie to the north of
Greece. There he tamed the fierce hill tribes with the
magic of his song, and lived a life of abstinence and
purity and ecstasy of the soul. But the followers of
Dionysos who dwelt in those parts looked on him
askance ; for whereas they worshipped the god with shed-
ing of blood and rending of goats, in the madness that is
born of wine, the ecstasy of his worship was born of music
and beauty, and he would have no part nor lot in their
wild revels. And because there is no hate that is greater
than the hate of those who worship one god in divers way,
there came a day when the mad frenzy of the Maenads was
turned against Orpheus himself. As he sat looking forth
on the sunrise and singing as he touched his lyre, the
raving band came up behind him, full of madness and of
wine. And they tore him limb from limb in their frenzy,
as they had torn the wild goats before, and cast his head
into the Hebrus, thinking to silence his singing for ever.
262
The Divine Musician
But his liead floated on the waves of the eddying stream,
fair and fresh as in hfc, singing as it floated its magic
enchanting song. Gently the river bore it along and down
to the sea, and the blue sea waves kissed it and passed
it from one to the other, till at last they cast it up, still
singing, on the shores of the Lesbian Isle. There the Muses
came and buried it, and made of its tomb a sacred shrine,
where, for many a long year, men came from far and
wide to worship and consult the oracle. About that
shrine the nightingales sang more sweetly than in any
other spot on earth, for they learnt their song from the
lips of Orpheus himself. And men bound themselves in a
holy brotherhood which they called by his name, and
lived by the rules he had written on his tablets. Some of
those who pretended to follow him were charlatans and
rogues, and brought dishonour and ridicule upon his
name, while others kept the letter without the spirit of his
law ; but among them were those of a pure and blameless
life, who kept his doctrines, and handed them down from
generation to generation, till in time they became the
foundation-stones of the great philosophies of Pythagoras
and Plato.
Thus did Orpheus live and die, and pointed out to men
the path to immortality by purity and abstinence and
ecstasy of the soul. There were many of old who hated
his doctrine, and many who hate it now ; and, indeed, it
is not one by which every man can live. But there are
those to whom it brings peace and joy, though they call it
by other names than his ; and these are the Bacchoi, the
initiated, who have seen the inward light, and their souls
are at peace.
263
The Flight of Arethusa
ANY, many hundred years ago
a small band of colonists set
sail from Corinth to found for
themselves a new home and
a new city in the far-away
west. With a song upon their
lips, the sailors bent to their
oars.
"Heave ho! Heave ho!" they sang, "for the three-
cornered isle of the west ! Heave ho ! for the fountain
that fails not, and the whispering willow-trees ! Heave
ho ! for the waters that are wedded with the waters of
our own native land !"
Then, as the breeze filled their sails, they pulled in their
oars, and looked back for the last time at the home they
were leaving for ever. Proudly between two seas did the
rock of Corinth raise her head, encircled with a diadem of
walls and towers. With tears in their eyes they watched
her sink, and soon all around them was nothing but the
waste of the grey sea waves. Thus did they leave the old
land for the new with joy and sorrow, hope and fear in
their hearts, and sailed away to the west, to the land
of their dreams, the three-cornered isle of which the
264
The Flight of Arethusa
jracle had spoken. For when Archias, their leader, had
consulted the priestess at Delphi, she had answered,
" To Trinacria the god bids thee go, the three-cornered
isle of the west. There on Ortygia, th^e sacred islet,
shalt thou build thee a home, by the side of the fountain
that fails not, Arethusa, whose waters are wedded with
the waters of thine own native land."
So, in obedience to her words, Archias set sail with his
little band. And they found Ortygia and the spring
Arethusa in the shade of the whispering willows. There
they planted the seed of that city, which grew to be the
greatest in all Sicily and the mistress of the Mediter-
ranean— Syracuse, proud Corinth's prouder daughter.
For her sake many a battle has been fought and many a
weary war been waged ; for through long centuries men
knew that whoever held the keys of Syracuse held the
keys of power in their hands.
But what did the priestess mean when she bade Archias
go to the isle whose waters were wedded with the waters
of his own native land ? And how came it that when
he and his band reached Sicily they found there the
flowers and the fruit of the home they had left, and
streams that ran in and out of the limestone rocks like
the streams of the Peloponnese ? I will tell you.
Arethusa, around whose spring in Ortygia the whisper-
ing willows bent, was once a nymph, who dwelt in the
Arcadian woodlands and followed Artemis the maiden
huntress, over hill and over dale. Artemis loved her
above all the other nymphs who were her handmaids,
and as a sign of her favour she would let her carry
her bow and her quiver full of darts. On many a hot
26s
Children of the Dawn
summer's aay did Arethusa and her companions bathe with
their mistress in the cool deep mountain pools. Above
their heads the great oaks of the forest spread their
branches, and the grass beneath their feet was fresh and
green. So long as they stayed by the side of their mis-
tress the nymphs were safe from harm, for no god or
goddess in all the land was so powerful as Artemis, and
she knew how to protect her own.
So it came to pass that, because Arethusa had never
known what fear was, she grew to think that there was
no such thing, and one day she left her mistress and her
comrades, and wandered forth alone through the woods.
Her heart was gay and light, and she sang as she went.
In the gloom of the forest she was like a ray of the sun,
and on the bare hill-sides she was like a sparkling stream
that leaves green grass and flowers wherever it passes.
But she thought nothing of her beauty, nor feared any
harm because of it. As soon would lily cease from growing,
because it feared to be plucked for the sake of its fair
sweet flower. So she wandered on happy and light-
hearted on that bright summer's day.
At last she came to a broad river that barred her
path. High up above her head the water fell leaping
and roaring down the face of the rocks, while below the
swift current hurried along through swirling eddies and
foam. When she saw that she could go no farther, she
sat down on a rock by the edge of a stream, and let the
cool water play over her feet ; then she bent down to fill
her hand and drink. As she did so her heart stopped
beating, and her limbs grew stiff and numb, and for the
first time in her life she knew what fear was. For out of
266
The Flight of Arethusa
the waters before her there rose up what seemed a
great billow of foam and spray, which stretched out a long
arm towards her, and from the tips of five great fingers
the drops fell cold upon her shoulders. With a cry, she
drew herself together, and turned and fled ; but she had
seen the form of the river-god grow clear in the billow,
with the water flowing down from his damp hair and
beard, and the flash of his eyes like the flash of lightning
in the midst of the foam. It was Alpheus, the king of all
the rivers of Peloponnese. He had seen Arethusa alone
on the bank, and for love of her beauty he had risen from
the depths of the stream and stretched out his arms to
gather her to himself, and draw her down beneath the
waves, to live with him and be his for ever. But she had
been too quick for him, and now she fled before him as
a deer flees before the hounds, whilst the fear that had
numbed her at first now lent wings to her feet. Over hill and
over dale she fled, swift as the rushing wind. Her bright
locks flew out behind her, and as she leapt from rock to
rock her white robes gleamed like the gleam of sunlit
waters. Close behind her came Alpheus. The deafening
roar of his flood sounded like thunder in her ears, and his
misty breath blew cold upon her cheek. On and on she
fled, with the swiftness and strength of despair, till at
last she could go no farther ; for before her stretched the
blue waste of the cruel Ionian, and the spray of the
waves stung her face, while behind her the floods of
Alpheus rushed thundering down. Then she stretched
forth her hands, and cried out to the Maid of the Sea,
" O Dictynna, Dictynna, have mercy ! In the name
of great Artemis, whom thoulovest as I do, help me now."
267
Children of the Dawn
The Maid of the Sea heard her cry, and wrapped her
about in a mist, and her body and her limbs were unloosed
and melted away, till she became a spring of fresh, pure
water that bubbled and danced over the stones of the
shore, and dived at last into the waves of the sea. But
behind her the flood of Alpheus still rushed leaping and
foaming. He had followed her over mountain and
valley, and he followed her now through the ocean.
Down through the white waves they dived into the depths
of the sea, and passed like silvery currents of light through
the green sleeping waters, on and on, through forests
of seaweed, and over shell-strewn rocks, till they were
stopped at last in their flight by the roots of the three-
cornered isle. There, through the fissures and clefts, they
forced their way up once more to the sunlight, and side
by side they leapt down from the rocks and the crags —
down towards the sea once again. But Arethusa fled
no longer in terror, and her fear of Alpheus was gone ;
for he pursued her no more in a thundering, boisterous
flood. Now he held out his strong white arms, and called
to her gently and low — as gently as the waves call in
summer as they dance to the shore.
" Arethusa, Arethusa, I love thee. Come, join thv
waters with mine."
But she leapt away from him with a happy, mischievous
laugh, and tossed back the spray from her hair, so that it
fell on his cheek like a shower of kisses. Thus she leapt
laughing, down over the rocks and crags towards the
sea, knowing full well that he played with her, and that
any moment he could make her his own. At last, as
she hovered for a moment on the brink of the cliff, he
268
On and on she fled with the swiftness and strength of despair.
The Flight of Arethusa
caught her in his strong white arms, and together they
dived once more into the salt sea waves, so that their
waters were mingled, and for evermore they were one.
And Arethusa showed her bright head again in the
spring beneath the willows of Ortygia, which is called by
her name to this day. From the time of her flight that
spring never failed or grew dry, for from the snows of the
mountains Alpheus flowed always to meet her, bringing
coolness and plenty to the waters he loved. Men said,
moreover, that if a cup were put into the stream of
Alpheus in the Peloponnese it would find its way at last
to the spring in Ortygia — which showed that the waters of
Arethusa and Alpheus w^ere wedded and blended together,
so that they lived apart no more.
And that was the reason why Archias found in Sicily
the flowers and the fruit of the land he had left ; for
Alpheus had borne their seeds in his stream from
Peloponnese, and scattered them right and left as he
sprang through the rocks, that the winds of heaven
might sow them where they willed. To this day you
will find in Sicily the olive and the vine, and the
blushing flower of the almond, and the narcissus with
its crown of gold, as you find them in Peloponnese ; for is
not the water that feeds their meadows one stream that
joins two lands ? And on the first coins of Syracuse you
will find the head of the nymph Arethusa, with the fish
swimming round about ; for w^as it not by the side of her
spring that the first stones of the city were laid, on the
sacred isle of Ortygia, round which the sea-fish swam ?
Thus did Arethusa flee in terror from Alpheus, to be
wedded to him at last in a land across the sea.
271
The Winning of Atalanta
NCE upon a time there ruled in
Arcadian Tegea a proud-hearted
king named Schoenus. A tamer
of horses was he, and a man
mighty in the hunt and in
battle. Above every other thing
he loved danger and sport and
all kinds of manly exercise. In-
deed, these things were the pas-
sion of his life, and he despised
all womenkind because they could take no part nor lot
in them. And he wedded Clymene, a fair princess of
a royal house, because he wished to raise up noble sons
in his halls, who should ride and hunt with him, and
carry on his name when he was dead. On his wedding-
day he swore a great oath, and called upon all the gods
to witness it.
" Never," he swore in his pride, " shall a maid child
live in my halls. If a maid is born to me, she shall die
ere her eyes see the light, and the honour of my house
shall rest upon my sons alone."
When a man swears an oath in his pride, he repents full
oft in humility, and so it fell out now. For many a long
272
The Winning of Atalanta
year no child was born to him, and when at last he had
hopes of an heir, the babe that was born was a maid.
When he saw the child his heart was cut in two, and the
pride of a father and the pride of his oath did battle
within him for victory. The pride of his oath con-
quered, for he was afraid to break his word in the face
of all his people. He hardened his heart, though he
had held the babe in his arms, and its little hand
with a birthmark above the wrist had closed about his
finger trustfully, and gave orders that the child should
be cast out upon the mountains to die of hunger and
cold. So the babe was given to a servant, who bore it
forth and left it on the slope of bleak Parthenius. But
Fate made a mock of Schoenus, of his pride and of his
oath, for no other child, either man or maid, was born
to him in his halls. All too late he repented of his folly,
when he saw his hearth desolate and no children round
his board, and knew that not only his name, but his race,
was like to die with him, because of the rash oath which
he had sworn.
Yet there was one who had pity on the babe, and
whose heart was kinder than the heart of its own sire.
When Artemis, the maiden goddess, saw the child cast
forth to die, she was filled with anger against Schoenus,
and swore that it should live. For it was a fair child,
and a maid after her own heart, and no young life ever
called to her in vain for mercy. Wherefore she sent a
she-bear to the place where the child lay, and softened
the heart of the beast, so that she lifted it gently in her
mouth and bore it to the cave where her own cubs lay
hid. There she suckled it with her own young ones, and
273 s
children of the Dawn
tended it night and day, till it grew strong and could
walk, and the cave rang with its laughter as it played
and gambolled with the young bears. When Artemis
knew that the child was old enough to live without its
foster-mother, she sent her nymphs to fetch it away,
and when they bore it to her she was well pleased to find
it fair and strong.
" Her name shall be Atalanta," she said to them.
" She shall dwell on the mountains and in the woods
of Arcadia, and be one of my band with you. A mighty
huntress shall she be, and the swiftest of all mortals upon
earth ; and in time she shall return to her own folk and
bring joy and sorrow to their hearts."
Thus it came to pass that Atalanta lived with the
nymphs in the woodlands of Arcadia. They taught her to
run and to hunt, and to shoot with bow and arrows, till
soon the day came when she could do these things as well
as any of their band. For the blood of her father ran
hot in her veins ; and not more easily does a young bird
learn to fly than Atalanta learnt to love all manner of
sport. So she came to womanhood in the heart of the
hills, and as her form grew in height and strength, it grew
too in beauty and grace. The light of the sunbeam lay
hid in her hair, and the blue of the sky in her eyes, and
all the rivers of Arcadia bathed her limbs and made
them fresh and white. But she thought little of her
beauty, or the power it might have over the hearts of
men, for all her delight was in the hunt, and to follow
Artemis, her mistress, over hill and over dale. Artemis
loved her, and delighted to do her honour ; and when
the land of Calydon cried to her for mercy, because
274
The Winnin.f; of Atalanta
o
of the boar she had sent to ravage it in her vv-ralh, slie
decreed that none but Atalanta should have the glory
of that hunt. The tale of how she came to Calydon, and
of how the boar was slain at last through her, I have told
you before ; and of how death came to Meleager, because
he loved her, and would not let any man insult her while
he stood idly by. By the fame of that hunt her name was
carried far and wide through Hellas, so that v;hen she
came to the funeral games of Pelias there was no need to
ask who she was. She ran in the foot race against the
swiftest in the land, and won the prize so easily that
when she reached the goal the first man had scarce passed
the turning-point, though he was no sluggard to make a
mock of. When the games were over, she went back to
Arcadia without a tear or a sigh, but her face and her
memory lived in the heart of many a man whose very
name she had not known ; and when presently the news
went abroad that she would wed the man who could win
her, they flocked from far and wide, because they loved
her better than life ; for they knew that the unsuccessful
went forth to certain death.
The tale of how Atalanta went back to her own folk, and
of how she was wooed and won, is as follows :
One day, when King Schoenus held a great hunt in the
forest on the edge of his domain, it chanced that Atalanta
had come to those parts ; and when she heard the blare of
the bugles and the barking of the hounds, her heart leapt
with joy. As a dog, when he hears the voice of his
master, pricks up his ears and runs swiftly to meet him,
so did Atalanta run swiftly through the woods when she
heard the sound of the bugles. Full often had she joined
275 S 2
Children of the Dawn
in a hunt on the uplands of Arcadia, and run with the
hounds ; and when the hunt was over she had lied back
into the forest, away from those who had been fain for
her to stay. For she loved the hunt, but not the
hunters ; but, because she was a mortal and born of a
mortal race, she did not flee from their eyes, as the wood-
nymphs fled, but hunted with them for joy of the hunt,
and left them when it pleased her. So now she joined
in the chase as the stag broke loose from cover, and her
white feet flashed in the sunlight as she followed the
hounds across the open moorland. King Schoenus, when
he saw her, was glad.
" It is Atalanta, the maiden huntress," he cried. " See
that she be treated with due courtesy, for she is the only
woman on earth who is fit to look a man in the face."
And he rode eagerly after her. But the best horse in
all that company was no match for Atalanta. Far ahead
of them all she shot, like an arrow from the bow, and when
at last the stag turned at bay in a pool, she was the first
to reach him. When the rest had come up, and the
huntsman had slain the stag, the king turned to her.
" Atalanta," he said, " the trophy of this chase is
thine, and my huntsman shall bear the head of the stag
whithersoever thou shalt bid him. In token of our
esteem, I beg thee to accept this ring. When thou
lookest upon it, think kindly of an old man whose heart
is lonely, and who would fain have a daughter like thee."
As he spoke he drew off a gold ring from his finger and
held it towards her ; the tears stood in his eyes and
his hand shook as he looked on her fair young form, and
remembered the babe he had cast out on the mountains
276
The Winning of Atalanta
to die. If she had lived she would have been of an aga
with Atalanta, and perchance as fair and as strong as
she ; and his heart was bitter against himself for the folly
of his oath.
When Atalanta heard his words, she had a mind at
first to refuse his gift. Many a man before had offered
her gifts, and she had refused them every one ; for she
had no wish to be beholden to any man. But when she
saw the eyes of the old king dim with tears, and how his
hand shook as he held out the ring, her heart was softened,
and yearned with a strange yearning towards him.
Coming forward, she knelt at his feet and took the ring,
and held his hand and kissed it.
" May the gods grant the prayer of thy heart, sire,"
she said, " and give thee a daugliter like unto me, but
fairer and more wise than I !"
As he looked down on the hand that held his own the
old king trembled more violently than before, for above
the wrist was a birthmark like the birthmark above the
wrist of the babe he had cast forth to die. And he knew
that he made no mistake, for that mark had lived in his
mind as though it had been branded with red-hot steel.
" Atalanta," he said, " the gods have heard thy prayer.
This is not the first time thy fingers have closed about
mine."
" What meanest thou, sire ?" she asked.
" As many years ago as the span of thy young life,"
he said, " I held in my arms a new-born babe, the child
that the gods had given me, and its little hand with a
birthmark above the wrist closed about my finger trust-
fully. But because of my foolish pride 1 liardentd my
277
children of the Dawn
heart. I cast away the gift of the gods and sent the
cliild to die upon the mountains. But the birthmark on
its wrist was branded on my brain so that I could not
forget it. Never till this day have I seen that mark
again, and now I see it on thy wrist, my child."
He bowed his head as he spoke, and the tears from his
eyes fell upon her hand, which lay in his as she knelt
before him.
" Oh, my father !" she cried, and bent forward and
kissed his hand.
When he found that she did not turn from him, though
she knew what he had done, he was more deeply moved
than before.
" Atalanta," he said, " when I cast thee forth to die,
I gave back to the gods the life they had given me, and
now I have no right to claim it again. Yet would thy
presence be as sunshine in my halls if thou wert to come
back to me, my child."
Thus did the call come to Atalanta to return to her
own folk, and the choice lay before her. On the one side
was her free life in the forest, with Artemis and her
nymphs, the hunt, the fresh air, and all the things that
she loved ; on the other was life within the walls of a
city, and the need to bow her head to the customs and
the ways of men. Her heart misgave her when she
thought of it.
" My lord," she said, " will a young lion step into the
cage of his own free will, think you ?"
The old king bowed his head at her words.
" Alas ! what other answer could I look for ?" he said.
" I thank the gods that they have shown me thy fair
278
' Oh, my father I" she cried
The Winning of Atalanta
face this day. Perchance, when \vc hunt agaui in these
parts, thou wilt join us for love of the chase. Till then,
my child, farewell."
With trembling hands he raised her from her knees, and
kissed her on the forehead. Then he signed to his men
to lead forward his horse, and mounted and rode sadly
home through the forest with his company. And
Atalanta shaded her eyes and stood watching them till
they disappeared from sight. When they had gone, she
sighed, and turned and went upon her way. But her
eyes were blind and her ears were deaf to the sights and
sounds she loved so well, and that night she tossed
restlessly upon her couch of moss. For before her eyes
was the figure of an old man bowed with sorrow, and in
her ear his voice pleaded, trembling with longing and
love.
" Thy presence would be as sunshine in my halls if
thou wert to come back to me, my child."
In the early dawn she rose up from her couch, and
bathed in a stream close by, and gathered up her
shining hair in a coil about her head. Then she put
on her sandals and a fresh white tunic, slung her
quiver about her shoulders, and bow in hand went forth
through the forest. Looking neither to the right nor to
the left, she went on her way till she came to the white
road that led to the city. Then she turned and looked
back at the forest.
" Dear trees and woods," she said, " farewell, and ye
nymphs that dwell in the streams and dance on the green
sward of the mountains. When I have trodden the white
road and gone up to the city, I can live with you no more.
281
children of the Dawn
As for thee, great Artemis, who saved me in the begin-
ning, 1 will be thy servant for ever, and dwell a maiden
all my days, and a lover of the hunt."
She leant her head against a tree close by, and the
tears stood in her eyes. It seemed that the breeze bore
her words on its wings, for she heard a sigh from the
forest, and the waters cried out to her, " Atalanta,
come back, come back !"
But she closed her ears, and stepped out bravely on
the white highway, and went up into the city. The
people as they saw her pass marvelled greatly at her
beauty, and whispered one to the other, " Surely
it is Atalanta, the king's daughter. What doth she
here ?"
For the tale of how King Schoenus had found his child,
and of how she had refused to come home with him, had
spread like wildfire through the city ; so that when they
saw her, they knew full well who she must be. She took
no heed of them at all, but went straight forward on her
way till she came to the gate of the palace. The gate
stood open, and without knocking or calling she passed
in, and went across the echoing court and beneath the
portico into the great hall, as one who comes by right.
When she had entered the hall, she stopped and looked
about her. At first all seemed silent and deserted, for
the folk had gone their several ways for the work of the
day ; but at length she spied an old man sitting on a
carved chair in one of the alcoves between the pillars.
It was the king, her father. He sat with his head upon
his hand and his eyes downcast upon the floor, and
his face was sad and full of longing, as of one who dreams
282
The Winning of Atalanta
sweet dreams which he knows will not come true. Gently
she drew near to him, and thanked the gods who had
timed her coming so that she should find him alone.
And she went and knelt at his feet. The old man gazed
for a moment in her face, as though he did not see her ;
then he started from his chair and laid his hand upon
her shoulder.
" Atalanta !" he cried.
" My father," she said, " I have come back to thee."
Then he gathered her up in his arms.
" Oh, my child, my child !" he said. " The gods are
kind beyond my desert."
" Thy voice cried out to me in the night-time," she
said, " and I could not shut my heart to thy pleading.
The call of the free earth was strong, but the call of my
blood was stronger."
Thus did Atalanta come back to her own folk, and
bring joy to the heart of her father and the mother who
had never held her in her arms. A great feast was held
in the palace in her honour, and through all the city the
people rejoiced because of her. For she was a fair
princess of whom any land might be proud, and her
fame had spread through the length and breadth of Hellas,
Indeed, as soon as it was known who she was, and how
she had left the mountains to come and live with her
own kin, suitors flocked from far and wide to seek her
hand in marriage. But she treated them one and all
with scorn, and vowed that she would never wed. At
first her father smiled upon her, and looked on her
refusal to wed as the sign of a noble nature, that was not
to be won for the asking of the first chance-comers. So
283
Children of the Dawn
he gathered about him the noblest princes in the land
in the hope that among them all there would be one
who could win her heart. But the months passed by,
and still she vowed that she would never wed. All her
delight was in running and hunting, and to ride by her
father's side. As for the young princes, she liked tliem
full well for companions in sport, but as soon as they
spoke of love and marriage she would turn her back
upon them. At length the king grew anxious.
" Surely, my child," he said, " among all these princes
there is one whom thou couldst love ?"
" I shall never love any man but thee, my father,"
she replied.
" Yet all the hope of our race lies upon thee, Ata-
lanta," he said. " If thou wilt not wed, our race will
die."
" Our race died on the day on which thou didst cast
me forth on the mountains," she answered. " If I have
lived, it is no thanks to thee or to any of my people, but
my life is hers who saved me on that day."
" What meanest thou ?" said the king.
" When I left the forest and came back to thee I
vowed a vow to Artemis, who saved me in the beginning.
I said, ' I will be thy servant for ever, and dwell a
maiden all my days and a lover of the hunt.' My life
belongs to her, and not to my race, not to any son of
man."
" We vow rash vows in ignorance, Atalanta," said the
king, as he remembered the oath he had sworn on his
wedding-day, " and Fate makes a mock of us, and turns
our nay to yea."
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But Atalanta laughed at his words.
" When Fate mocks at me," she said, " it will be time
enough for me to wed and turn my nay to yea."
Nothing that he could say would persuade her to go
back from her resolve. But still he reasoned with her
night and day, till at length she grew so wearied of the
matter that she bethought of a plan that would rid her of
all her suitors.
" My father," she said, " I will wed any man who shall
ask for my hand, if he will fulfil one condition."
" My child," cried her father, " I knew that in the end
thou wouldst listen to reason. Tell me thy condition,
that I may spread it abroad among those who are suing
for thy hand."
" Tell them," she said, " that I will wed the first man
among them who will run a race with me. If he win, I
will be his bride, but if he lose, he must die."
The king's face fell when he heard her words.
" Surely thou speakest in mockery, Atalanta," he said.
" No man in all the world can run as swiftly as thou canst,
and they know it. Thou wilt drive thy suitors from thee ;
or if any be foolhardy enough to run with thee, they will
run to a certain death."
" No man will run to a certain death, my father," she
answered. " When they know that to sigh for me is to
sigh for death, they will go back to their own folk, and I
shall be troubled with suitors no more."
Herein she spoke in ignorance, and knew not the fatal
power of her beauty upon the hearts of men. And her
father sighed at her words. Yet he thought within himself,
" Perchance there is more in her words than meets the
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children of the Dawn
ear. The deep sea is easier to fathom than the mind
of a woman. Either there is one among her suitors
whom she favours above the rest, and she will see to it
that he is the first to run with her, and will bridle her
speed and let him win ; or else, Heaven knows, some god
has put this whim in her heart, and will send a champion
we know not, who can run faster than the fastest, and he
will outspeed her and make her his bride. She will never
let men die because of her."
But herein he too thought in ignorance, and knew not
how his own pride and stubbornness lived again in Ata-
lanta, so that she would abide by her word, though it
brought grief to herself and death to others. So he
published abroad among the suitors the condition she
had made. When they heard it there was great con-
sternation among them, and they consulted together as
to what they should do, and some sent a deputation to her
to find out the meaning of her words.
" Lady," they asked, " when thou speakest of death
thou speakest perchance in parables. Those who run in
the race with thee and are outstripped must give up all
hope of thee, and look upon thy face no more. And this
would be death indeed to them that love thee."
But she laughed in their faces.
" If you would hear parables," she said, " go to the
oracle at Delphi. I am no raving priestess to utter words
that walk two ways at once. He who courts death may
race with me at daybreak, and at sunset he shall drink
the poison-cup without fail, and look neither on my face
again nor the face of any living thing. Have I spoken
plainly now ?"
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The Winning of Atalanta
The next day there was great confusion in the halls of
King Schoenus. There was shouting and bustling, and
attendants ran this way and that. Chariots clattered
through the gateway and drew up in the court, and bag-
gage was piled high behind the horses. And Atalanta
laughed aloud at the success of her scheme ; for suitor
after suitor came and kissed her hand and bade her fare-
well. They loved her much, but they loved life better,
and were content to go home and find mates who, though
less fair, were less ferocious, and were like to look upon
their lords with eyes more lowly and obedient than
Atalanta.
That night the gathering about the board was scantier
than it had been for many a long day. Yet a few of the
suitors remained, and seemed in no haste to be gone.
Day after day passed by, and each night Atalanta said
within herself,
" To-morrow they will surely go. They dwell in
distant towns, and they are waiting for a favourable day
for their journey."
But favourable days came and went, and still they
stayed in the halls of King Schoenus. At last Atalanta
could hide the dread in her heart no longer.
" How long will it be, my father," she asked, " ere we
are troubled no more with strangers in our halls ?"
" If thou wilt wed one of them, we shall be troubled
with the rest no more," he replied.
" They know full well I can wed no man of them,
because of the condition I have made," she said.
" They are waiting for thee to fulfil thy condition,"
said the king.
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Then Atalanta herself went and pleaded with them.
" My friends," she said, " I pray you to be guided by
me. The gods have not fashioned me after the manner of
womenkind, and I cannot give myself nor my love to
any man. Look upon me as one of yourselves, I pray
you, and think not to win me in marriage."
But they replied, " Lady, thou hast given the condition
of thy marrying, and we are waiting to fulfil it."
" But my condition means certain death," she cried.
" Nothing in this life is certain," they said, " save
death in the end. If it come soon or late, what matter ?
For thy sake we are willing to face it now."
Thus was she forced to keep her word, and the lists
were made ready for the race, and the lots were cast
among the suitors as to which of them should be the first
to run against her. In the early morning, before the sun
was strong, the race was run, and all the city crowded to
the course to watch it. The man ran well and bravely,
but his speed was as child's play to Atalanta. She put
forth her strength like a greyhound that is content to run
for a while before the horses, but when he scents a hare,
can leave them far behind. Even so did Atalanta run,
and came in cool and fresh at the goal, whilst her rival
ran in hot and panting behind her.
Thus did it come to pass that the first man drank the
poison-cup because of his love for Atalanta. With a
smiling face did he drink it, as a man drinks at a
feast.
" Farewell, lady," he said ; " grieve not for me. With
open e3'es I chose my fate. I ran for the sake of love and
beauty, and I have won death. Such is ever the lot of the
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nameless many. They fight for the glory of the man
whose name shall live. Good luck to my rival !"
And now a time of darkness and mourning fell upon
the land, and many a day in the year the city was hung
with black for the sake of some noble suitor who had
chosen death rather than life without Atalanta. And
Atalanta's heart was sore within her, because of the rash
condition she had made in her ignorance. When she
would fain have recalled her words it was too late, for
the suitors bound her to her promise.
" Either give thyself of thine own free will to one of us,
or else let us take our chance of winning thee or death,"
they said.
And so she was forced to run with them. For in her
heart she knew that even death was happier for a man
than to win her without her love.
Thus were the words of Artemis fulfilled when she said,
" In time she shall return to her own folk, and bring joy
and sorrow to their hearts."
One day it chanced that a stranger came to the city on
a morning that a race was to be run. The night before
he had slept in a village near by, and the people had told
him the tale of Atalanta, and how on the morrow another
suitor was to run to his death. But he scoffed at their
words.
" No man would run to certain death," he said, " were
the maid as fair as Aphrodite."
" Go and see for thyself," they replied. " Soon we
shall hear that thou too wilt run in the race."
" Never," he said ; " no woman can cheat my life from
me."
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children of the Dawn
But they shook their heads unconvinced.
" Many before thee have spoken Hkewise," said they,
" and yet they have run."
" If I run, I will run to win," he answered.
" Can a snail outstrip a deer ?" they asked.
" It might so chance," said he.
" Thou art mad," they cried.
" Better to be mad on earth than sane in Hades," he
replied.
But they shook their heads the more, and tapped wisely
with their fingers on their foreheads, to show that he was
mad and spoke at random.
" Well, well," he said, with a laugh, " we shall see what
we shall see."
The next morning he set forth early for the city, and,
mingling with the crowd, he made his way to the race-
course, and found for himself a place where he could
watch the whole sight with ease. The race was run, and
ended as it always ended ; and once again the city
was hung with black. But in the mind of the stranger
an image remained which had not been there before —
the image of a maid whose white feet flashed in the sun-
light and her tunic swung to and fro as a flag swings in
the breeze.
" Great Heracles !" he thought within himself, " to run
shoulder to shoulder with her for a moment, even in a race
for death, might be worth the while after all. I will make
myself known at the palace, and see what the gods will
give me."
For some days he lay hid in the city, till he thought
the time was ripe for him to go up to the palace of the
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king. Then he went for a walk along the highway, and
when he was covered with dust and grime, he returned
to the city and made his way at once to the palace. At
the door of the gateway he knocked, and the old porter
came out to ask his will.
" I am come from a distant land," he said, " and
to-morrow I would journey yet further on my way. I
pray thee to crave hospitality for one night for me from
the steward of this house, whoe'er he be. I am a king's
son, and worthy to sit at any man's table."
The porter cast a doubtful eye on the travel-worn
clothes of the stranger. It seemed unlikely that a king's
son would go on a distant journey with no body-servant
and no horse or baggage. Then he looked in his clear
blue eyes, which gazed back at him as innocent as a
child's, and he saw that for all his sorry raiment he was
by no means ill-favoured, but held himself well and
proudly. So he opened the door and led him across
the court.
" Well, well," he muttered in his beard, " great folk
have strange whims in these days. Our king must needs
slay his daughter, because she is a maid, and she must
needs slay her suitors, because they are men. After that
this fellow may well be, as he says, a king's son, who,
because he has a palace and plenty, must needs tramp
over the face of the earth and beg his bread. Praise be
to the gods who put lowly blood in my veins and sense
in my head, else had it been better for the gate to keep
itself than to have me for a guardian."
Then he cast another look over his shoulder at the
young man behind.
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Children of the Dawn
" At any rate, for one night he can do no harm." he
muttered.
" What didst thou say, father ?" asked the stranger.
" I said that for one night thou couldst do no harm,"
rephed the old man.
" On the contrary," said the stranger with a laugh,
" in one night I hope to do more good to this house than
thou hast done in all thy life."
" The young have ever a good conceit of themselves,"
said the porter. " Thou art not like to keep this gate,
winter and summer, day and night, for close on three-
score years, as I have done, young man."
" On the other hand," said the stranger, " thou art
not like to marry the king's daughter within the year,
and have the city hung with red instead of black in thine
honour, as I am like to do."
" Sir," said the old man, " I know my place too
well "
" — and love thy life too much to aspire to the hand
of the princess. Is that not so ?"
" Mayhap," said the old man, and shut his mouth with
a snap. To all further remarks which the stranger
made he answered with a grunt. He took him into
the palace and delivered him into the hands of the
steward. As he turned to go back to his post, the young
man clapped his hand upon his shoulder.
" Good luck to thee and thy gate," he said. " When
I come through with the hand of the princess in mine,
perchance thou wilt look upon mc with greater favour
than now."
" Be warned in time, young man," said the porter,
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The Winning of Atalanta
" and tarry not over long in this palace, but go forth on
thy journey in the morning, as thou hadst a mind to do
in the beginning. Those who tarry too long are apt to
go through the gate with nought but a cake in their
hand."
This he said, meaning the cake which was put in the
hands of the dead for them to give to Cerberus, the
watch-dog of Hades.
" Fear not for that," said the stranger: " I had as lief
go empty-handed."
Thereupon he turned to the steward, who welcomed
him sadly to the halls of King Schoenus. All strangers
were looked upon askance in those days, lest they came
as suitors for the hand of Atalanta, and wished to add
to those who had run in the fatal race. When he heard
that the young man would depart on the morrow on his
journey he was glad, and gave him water to wash with
and a change of raiment, and showed him his place at
the board, without so much as asking his name. When
Atalanta saw a stranger at the board her heart sank
within her, and she kept her eyes turned away, as though
she had not seen him, for she made sure that he too had
come to run in the race with her. It chanced that
night that the company was scanty, and no man talked
in private to his neighbour, but the conversation leapt
from one end of the board to the other, as each one took
his share in it and said his say. The stranger, too, took
his part with the rest of them, in nowise abashed ; and
so shrewd were his words, and so full of wit, that soon he
had a smile upon the face of each one at the table. For
many a long day the talk \iad not been so merry nor the
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children of the Dawn
laughter so loud at the table of King Schoenus. Atalanta,
too, forgot her constraint, and talked and laughed freely
with the stranger ; and he answered her back, as though
it had been man to man, and showed no more deference
to her than to the others of the company.
When the meal was over, the king approached the
stranger, and Atalanta stood beside him.
" Sir," said the king, " thy name and country are still
hid from us, but we are grateful for thy coming, and would
be fain for thee to stay as long as it shall please thee."
" I thank thee, sire," said the stranger, " but I am
bound by a strange vow. I may not reveal my name,
nor accept hospitality for more than one night from any
man, till I come to a house where none other than the
king's daughter shall promise me her hand in marriage.
From the tales I have heard in the neighbouring country,
I have learnt that I may not hope to end my vow beneath
this roof — though indeed," he said, turning to Atalanta,
" I would fain press my suit if there were any chance
of success."
But Atalanta threw back her head at his words.
" Thou hast doubtless heard the condition," she said, " by
tlie fulfilment of which alone a man may win my hand."
" Alas, sir !" said the king, " I would press no man to
try his luck in that venture."
" Since that is so," said the stranger, " I will go forth
once more upon my journey at break of day, and see
what luck the gods will give me. I thank thee for thy
kindly hospitality this night, and beg thee to excuse me.
I have travelled far, and would fain rest now, as I must
go a long distance ere I can rest again."
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The Winning of Atalanta
Thereupon he took his leave of King Schoenus and his
daughter. But she, for all her pride, could not forget
the man who seemed to bid her farewell with so light a
heart. He was well favoured, but it was not because
he was well favoured, or because he had a ready tongue,
that she thought on him. Indeed, when she asked
herself why she should remember one who by now had
doubtless lost all memory of her, she could find no
answer. As she tossed on her couch with a troubled
mind, she determined that before he left the palace on
the morrow she would have some speech with him.
" He thinks no more of me than of a stone upon the
wayside," she said within herself, " wherefore I can do
him no wrong by letting him speak with me again before
lie goes."
It was her custom to rise early in the morning, before
the rest of the household was stirring, and to go forth
alone into the woods ; and it was the lot of one of the slaves
to rouse himself betimes to give her food ere she went, so
that when she appeared, as was her wont, he thought
nothing of it. The stranger had risen even earlier than
she, and the slave was waiting upon him. When Ata-
lanta saw him, her heart gave a sudden thrill, for she had
not looked to see him so soon.
" Good-morrow, sir," she said. " It is not often I
have a companion when I break my fast."
Then she turned to the slave.
" Thou mayest get thee back to thy bed," she said,
" and sleep out thy sleep in peace. I will see to the
wants of our guest and speed him on his way."
The slave, nothing loth, departed. He was well used
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children of the Dawn
to strange commands from his mistress ; and, moreover,
there was no need to invite him twice to return to his
couch.
Thereupon Atalanta sat down at the board beside the
stranger, and they fell to with all the appetite of 3'outh
and health ; and as they ate they laughed and joked,
and talked of strange lands they both had seen and
adventures that had befallen them. In the space of one
half-hour they were as good friends as though they had
known each other all their lives, and suitors who had
sat at her father's board day after day were much more
strangers to Atalanta than this man, who had craved but
one night's hospitality.
When they had finished their meal the stranger rose.
" I must bid thee farewell, lady," he said.
" Nay, not yet," she replied ; " I will set thee on thy
way, and show thee a road through the forest that will
bring thee to the city thou seekest, I know every track
and path as well as the wild deer know them."
He tried to dissuade her, but she would not listen,
and led him out from the palace by a side-gate, which
she unbarred with her own hands. Down through the
sleeping streets they went, where the shadows of the
houses lay long upon the ground, and out across the open
downs into the shade of the forest. The dew gleamed
like jewels on the leaves, as here and there the slanting
rays of the sun shone through the trees, and above their
heads the lark sang gaily in the bright summei sky.
Yet they walked silently side by side, as though, in spite
of the brightness of the day, sorrow and not joy were
sitting in their hearts ; and all their gay talk and laughter
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of the early morning was dead. At length they came
to a broad track that crossed the path they were in, and
Atalanta stopped short and pointed to the right.
" From here," she said, " thou canst not miss thy way.
Follow the track till it lead thee to the high-road, and
when thou strikest the high-road, turn to the left, and
thou wilt come to the city thou seekest."
Then she held out her hand to him.
" I must bid thee farewell," she said, " and good luck
to the ending of thy vow."
" Lady," he said, and took her hand in his, " if thou
wilt, thou canst release me now from my vow."
But she drew her hand away sharply and tossed back
her head.
" Many kings have daughters besides King Schoenus,"
she said, " and any one of them could release thee from
thy vow as well as I."
" Atalanta," he said, " no king's daughter save thee
shall ever release me from my vow. That which all our
laughter and our converse last night and this morning
strove to hide, our silence, as we walked side by side, has
revealed far better than I can tell thee. Thou knowest
that I love thee. From the first moment that I saw
thee I have loved thee."
His words made her heart thrill with a strange joy.
But she showed no sign of it, and answered him coldly.
She was proud and wished to test him.
" Doubtless the flood-gates of love are easily thrown
open where a man would be released from a vow. Thou
knowest how thou mayest win me. Art thou willing to
run in the race ?"
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At this all his mirth returned to him, and his eyes
shone with merriment as he answered :
" Much good would my love do me if I had to drink
the poison cup perforce. Nay, nay," he said ; " I love
thee too well to put my death at thy door. When I
have some chance of winning the race, I will come back
and claim thee. In the meantime, lady, farewell."
And, bowing to her, he turned and went his way,
without so much as looking back at her, as she stood
trembling with astonishment and anger. It was not thus
her other lovers had spoken. When he had gone from
sight, she turned suddenly and went back by the path
they had come. Her hands were clenched, and the tears
sprang unbidden to her eyes, as she strode forward with
long, angry strides that took no heed of where they went.
" He has made a mock of me !" she cried to herself —
" he has made a mock of me ! He is a base adventurer
who seeks release from his vow. He has no heart and no
honour. Fool that I was to treat him as a friend !"
Thus did she stride along in her wrath, till it had cooled
somewhat, and she was able to think more calmly of the
stranger. Then his form came back to her mind, as he
had looked when they stood face to face at the parting
of the ways, when the sun had glinted down upon them
through the trees, and he had looked her straight in the
face with his clear blue eyes, and said : " Thou knowest
that I love thee. From the first moment I saw thee I
have loved thee."
A great sob rose in her throat as she remembered.
" Ah, he spoke the truth !" she said ; " I know that
he spoke the truth."
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The Winning of Atalanta
Moreover, her heart told her that long before he
had spoken the words she had known that he loved her.
Yet strange is the bond of love. Its strands are cer-
tainty and doubt interwoven. Wherefore Atalanta,
though she had heard the words which were but the
echo of the silent speech of their hearts, had put him yet
further to the test, and had driven him from her side
by asking of him a sacrifice she had no wish for him
to make.
" If he would come back and run with me," she sighed,
" my feet would be as heavy as lead against him."
But she sighed in vain. Day after day passed by, and
he came not.
" He is a man of his word," she thought at last. " Till
he has some chance of winning he will not come back.
And he is no fool. He knows he can never run as I can
run. He will never come back."
Yet for all this she watched for him night and day.
When she went forth into the road, or into the forest,
she looked for his form at every turn of the way. When
she entered the great hall of the palace, she looked to
see his face at the board. But always she looked
in vain, and sometimes her heart grew bitter against
him.
" If he were to come now," she would say to herself,
" I would show him no mercy. He who takes so much
thought before he will risk his life for my sake is not
worthy to win me."
Then again she would grow tender, and stand looking
down the path by which he had gone, and sigh for him.
" Oh, my love, come back, come back ! My pride is
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children of the Dawn
melted away like the snow, and witliout any race I
will give myself to thee."
Thus would she long for him, and grow near to hating
him, because she knew that she loved him. The weeks
and months passed by, and still he returned not ;
winter came and went, and once again the dewdrops
shone in the summer sunlight as Atalanta walked in the
forest at break of day. She walked with her eyes upon
the ground, thinking of the summer morning a long year
ago when he had walked by her side in silence along
that very path. When by chance she raised her eyes,
there, at the parting of the ways, he stood, as though in
answer to her thoughts. With a cry she stopped short
and gazed at him, and he came forward and bowed to
her.
" I have come back, lady," he said.
" Oh !" she cried from her heart, " I am glad thou hast
come back."
Then he bent and kissed her hand. So once more
they walked in silence side by side along the path they
had walked before ; and once again the bond of love was
knit strong between them, with its strands of certainty
and doubt. As they drew near to the edge of the forest,
Atalanta was the first to speak.
" And thy vow," she asked — " hast thou found release
from it ?"
" Not yet," he answered. " I am come back to run
the race, that I may win release."
Once again the spirit of perversity came upon her.
" Where hast thou learnt to run like the wind ?" she
asked.
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The Winning of Atalanta
" I have not learnt to run like the wind," he replied.
" I have learnt something better than that."
" Few things are better in a race than swiftness," she
said.
" True," he answered ; " yet I have found the one
thing better."
" What is this strange thing ?" she asked.
" When we have run the race, thou wilt know," he said.
" I have grown no sluggard," she said, with a toss of
her head, as though to warn him that her speed was not
a thing to be despised.
" That I can see," he said, as he cast a glance at her
straight white limbs and the easy grace of her bearing
as she walked beside him. Then they talked of indifferent
matters, and each one knew that what they had nearest
their hearts they were hiding from each other.
So they came to the palace, and from the lowest to
the highest the inmates greeted the stranger with joy.
For he had won the hearts of them all by his wit and his
genial smile. But they sighed when they heard that he
too had come to run in the fatal race.
" Alas !" said the old king, shaking his head, " I had
rather not have looked upon thy face again than see thee
back on such an errand."
The young man laughed. " He who runs with a fair
hope of winning runs swiftly," he said. " The others
were dragged down by the shackels of their own despair."
" Thou dost not know my daughter," said the
king.
" Mayhap I know her better than thou thinkest, and
better than thou knowest her thyself," said the stranger.
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children of the Dawn
No arguments or entreaties would turn him from his
purpose.
" I must win release from my vow," he said. " 1
cannot live all my life a nameless wanderer. Yet will I
not wed any woman I love not, for the sake of my release.
Atalanta alone can save me, for I love none other."
So the lists once again were prepared, and the course
made smooth for the race. With trembling fingers
Atalanta tied her girdle about her, and bound her sandals
to her feet. Though her heart was crying out for the
stranger to win, and praying that her feet might fail her
at the last, yet her pride, too, lifted up its head.
" He makes so sure of winning," she thought, " he
despises my swiftness. He shall see that nothing he has
learnt can teach him to run as I can run. And yet —
oh, cursed be the condition I thought so cunning in mine
ignorance ! Oh, would that he could win me without
first outspeeding me !"
Thus did her pride and her desire pull two ways at
once.
And now the folk were gathered together round the
course, and Atalanta and the stranger stood ready and
waiting for the word to be given. She had made it a
condition of the race that her rivals should have a good
start of her, and she stood with her eyes upon the
stranger's back, as he waited many paces before her.
All too soon the word was given, and he sprang forward
from his place, like a dog which has been straining at his
leasn springs forward when the hook is unloosed. And
Atlanta, too, sprang forward ; but whereas the man ran
like a hunted thing that strains every muscle to save its
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Out of the corner of his eye he could see the gleam of her tunic.
The Winning of Atalanta
life, she ran with the swinging grace of the wild deer
that, far away from the hunters and hounds, crosses the
springing turf of the lonely moor, fearless and proud, as
he throws back his antlers in the breeze. Thus did
Atalanta run, as though she had no thought of the race,
or of the man who ran for his life. Yet, though she seemed
to make no effort, she gained upon her rival at every
step, and now she was running close behind him, and
now she was almost shoulder to shoulder, and out of the
corner of his eye he could see the gleam of her tunic.
Then for a moment he slackened his pace, and it seemed
that she would pass him, and on every side the people
shouted out to him, " Run, run ! Faster, faster ! She
wall pass thee."
But he put his hand into the opening of his tunic, and
drew forth something from his breast. Then his hand
swung up above his head, and from it there flashed a
dazzling fiery apple. Up and down through the air it
flashed like a meteor, and rolled along the grass, till it
stopped far away in the centre of the course, and lay
shining like a jewel in the rays of the sun. Every e3''e
was turned from the race to watch its gleaming flight.
and Atalanta stopped short and watched it too. When
she saw it stop still in the middle of the course, flashing
and sparkling in the grass, a great desire sprang up in
her heart to have it — a mad, unreasoning desire that she
could not resist. And she darted aside out of the path
of the race, and went and picked up the shining golden
apple and put it in the bosom of her tunic. Meanwhile
the stranger had lost no time, and when Atalanta came
back to the spot she had left, he was far ahead upon the
305 u
children of the Dawn
course, and she had to run with a will if she wished to
overtake him. But once again she gained upon him,
and the space between them grew less and less, till they
w^ere running wellnigh shoulder to shoulder. And once
again he saw the gleam of her tunic beside him ; and
again he slackened his speed for a moment, and sent a
second gleaming apple into the air. Once more the mad,
unreasoning desire sprang up in Atalanta's heart, and,
leaving the course, she picked up the second apple and
put it in the bosom of her tunic beside the first. By the
time she had returned to the path the stranger had
rounded the turning-point, and was well on his way
towards the goal, and she put forth all her strength to
overtake him. But the ease of her running was gone.
She ran as one who runs bearing a burden, yet she would
not cast away the golden apples in her bosom ; for thougli
they hampered her, she gained upon her rival, and for
the third time they were running almost shoulder to
shoulder. And again, the third time, the same thing
happened, and Atalanta left the course to pick up the
shining fruit. This time when she returned to her place
the stranger was close upon the goal, and all around the
people were shouting and waving their hands. Blindly
she pulled herself together, and with all the strength
that was left in her she made a great spurt to overtake
him. If she would cast away the golden apples, she
might yet win the race ; but the same mad desire which
had spurred her to pick them up forbad her now to let
them go. As she ran they seemed to grow heavier and
heavier in her bosom ; yet she struggled and panted on,
and step by step did she gain upon him, though her eyes
306
The Winning of Atalanta
were darkened to all but his form and the goal ahead.
On every side the people shouted louder than before, for
they knew not now which of them would win. As they
drew near to the goal they were again almost shoulder
to shoulder, and the stranger saw once more the flash
of Atalanta's tunic beside him, while there were yet some
paces to run. Then he gave a great spurt forward, and
leapt away from her side. She tried to do likewise, but
her strength was gone. She had made her last effort
before. Thus did it come to pass that the stranger ran
in first to the goal, and, running close upon his heels,
Atalanta fell breathless into his arms as he turned to
catch her. She had run twice as far as he, but what
matter if he had not outsped her ? He had won the
race, and held the woman he loved in his arms. The
tears shone in her eyes, but he knew they were not tears
of grief ; and in the face of all the people he kissed her.
Thus was Atalanta, the swiftest of all mortals, beaten
in the race by the stranger, and learnt from his lips what
it was that he had found on his travels that had made
speed of no avail in the race.
For after they had come back to the city, surrounded
by the joyous folk, and had passed hand in hand beneath
the gateway, and the stranger had nodded with a smile
at the old porter, who stood bowing before them ; after
he had revealed to them all that he was Meilanion, the son
of Amphidamas, and the old king had fallen on his neck
and given him his blessing, because he proved to be the
son of his own boyhood's friend, and the man of all others
he would have chosen for his son-in-law — after all this,
when the speeches and the merrymaking were over, they
307 u 2
children of the Dawn
two walked alone in the moonlit court of the palace.
At last Atalanta had decked herself in the long saffron
robes of a bride, and in her hands she bore the three
shining apples. Meilanion's arm was about her, as they
walked for a while in silence, but at length she spoke
and held out the fruit in her hands.
" Tell me their secret," she said.
" Their secret lies in thy heart, Atalanta," he answered.
" What meanest thou ?" she asked.
" I mean that if thou hadst not loved me, they would
never have filled thy soul with longing to have them,
and thou wouldst never have turned aside from the race."
" And, knowing this, thou didst stake thy life on my
love ?" she said.
" Knowing that, I staked my life on thy love," he
answered.
" Then that was the one thing better tiian speed in
the race ?"
" Yes," he answered, " I learnt to trust in thy love."
There was silence for a moment between them, and
then again Atalanta spoke.
" And whence came the apples ?" she asked him.
" When I left thee at the parting of the ways," he
said, " I travelled many a weary league by land, and on
the road I passed many a shrine of Aphrodite. But
I never passed them by without lifting up my hands in
prayer to the goddess, for I knew that she could help
me if she would, and I knew that to them that love truly
she is ever kind in the end. But I wandered till I was
footsore and weary, and yet I had no sign. At length
I came to the seashore, and took ship for the pleasant
308
The Winning of Atalanta
isle of Cyprus, which is her own dear home. There at
last she came to me, walking on the waves of the sea,
As I lay on the shore in the night-time, I saw her as a
great light afar, and she drew near to me with the foam
playing white about her feet. In her hand she bore
three shining golden apples. And she came and stood
beside me, and I hid my eyes at the sight of her beauty.
But she spoke to me in a voice that was soft and kind,
and the melody of it touched my heart like the melody
of music.
Fear not, Meilanion,' she said ; ' I have heard the
cry of thy heart. Here are three apples from mine own
apple-tree. If she whom thou lovest loves thee in
return, she cannot resist the spell of their golden bright-
ness. When thou runnest against her, cast them one by
one into the middle of the course. If she love thee she
will turn aside to pick them up. For her they will be
heavy as the gold they seem made of. For thee they will
be light as the fruit whose form they wear. Farewell,
and good luck to thy race.'
" Thereupon darkness came over my eyes, and I could
find no words to thank her. When I awoke I thought
it had been a dream, but lo ! by my side upon the sand
lay the apples, shining in the sunlight."
" And thy vow ?" asked Atalanta. " How camest
thou to make such a vow ?"
He laughed at her words.
" When a hare is hunted," he said, " thou knowest
how he will double and turn, and take a line he has no
mind to pursue to the end. So was it with me. Long
ago in my father's house I heard of thee and of thy
309
children of the Dawn
beauty, and how thou couldst cast such a spell upon the
hearts of men that for thy sake they would fling away
their lives. And a great desire came upon me to see
this thing for myself, for I could scarce believe it. So
I set forth alone to find thee, and hid my name from all
men as I journeyed, for thus could I be more free to act
as seemed best in mine own eyes. And. I saw thee run
in a race, and that glimpse was enougii to tell me that
I too one day must run with thee. Yet was I more wary
than my rivals. I knew that to come as a suitor was the
way to turn thy heart to stone. Wherefore I pretended
to be bound by a vow, which would bring me as a pass-
ing stranger before thee. Canst thou forgive the lie ?"
She smiled into his face.
" It was a daring venture," she said.
" I knew I was as one who treads unknown paths on
a moonless night," he answered. " Yet deep in my heart
I felt that when a man desires one thing on earth above
every other — when he loves that thing better than life
itself, he is like to win it in the end, if he walk patiently
step by step in faith. He will win that thing, or death in
his struggle for it ; and he is content that so it should be."
Such was the winning of Atalanta. As for the golden
apples, she placed them in a precious casket, and guarded
them jealously all her days, for a memorial of the race
that she had failed to win.
"iio
Paris and GEnone
I HEN Peleiis the mortal married
silver - footed Thetis, the fair
nymph of the sea, great was the
rejoicing among gods and men ;
for Peleus was a brave warrior
and a mighty man, and well de-
served to have for wife a child of
the Immortals. To his marriage-
feast he bade all the gods and goddesses, and they left
their seats on calm Olympus, and came down to Pelion
where he dwelt, a band of shining ones, to do honour to
the mortal whom they loved. One alone of them all he
had not asked — Eris, the black-browed Goddess of Strife,
for at his wedding-feast he wished to have happiness and
joy, and no dark looks to mar the gladness of his board.
But he looked to find shame in the heart of one who knew
not shame. As it was, she came unasked, and great was
the sorrow that her coming brought, both to him and
to his wife and all the fair land of Hellas. For she sowed
the seed of discord which blossomed to the blood-red flower
of war, in which the mightiest and the best of two great
nations fell through ten long years of strife, and among
them was Achilles, the swiftest and bravest of mortal
3^i
Children of the Dawn
men, the son whom Thetis bore to Peleus to be a comfort to
him in his old age, and to succeed him when he died. But
as it was, Achilles died in battle far from his native land,
in the prime and flower of his manhood.
Now the manner in which Eris v/reaked her vengeance
was in this wise.
When the marriage-feast was drawing to its close, and
the gladdening wine had unlocked the lips and opened the
hearts of the revellers, above all the din and clatter there
rang through the hall a harsh, discordant laugh like the
rattle of thunder before a storm. A dead silence fell upon
them all, and every eye was turned towards the place from
whence that fearful laugh had come. In the shade of the
doorway stood a tall gaunt figure wrapped all about in
black. Above her head she held a blood-red torch that
flickered madly in the breeze, and cast upon her face the
shadow of her wild elf-locks. Her cheeks were pale as
ashes and her lips were thin and blue, but her eyes shone
bright as red-hot coals. When she saw the hall silent and
trembling before her, she laughed aloud once more and
waved the torch above her.
" Ha ! ha !" she cried. " You give me a cold welcome,
my masters. But I am kinder than you. I give, and take
nothing in return. See here, I bring a seasoning to your
feast, and much joy may you have of it."
Thereupon she drew from her bosom an apple all of gold,
and hurled it in their faces on the board. It rolled along
the table like a ball of light, and stopped in the centre
before Peleus, the king of the feast. The eyes of all
the guests followed it full of amazement and delight, for it
was wondrous fair to look upon.
312
Paris and Qui one
" I see you liKe my gift," cried Eris. " Let her keep it
who deserves it best. Farewell. I stay not where I
came unbidden."
Then she turned upon her heel, and strode away into
the blackness of the night.
When she had gone, Peleus put forth his hand and took
the apple. It was all of pure gold, the outermost parts of
white gold pale as straw, and the cheeks of red gold bright
a.s poppies, and across it was written in shining letters,
" For the Fail est."
As Peleus read the words aloud he looked slowly round
the board.
" O lady goddesses," he asked, " to which of you shall
I give it ?"
Thereupon arose a strife of tongues, and all the harmony
and good-fellowship of the feast was gone, for one said one
thing and one another, and each one in her heart wished
to have it for her own. But the claim of three stood out
above that of all the rest.
" I am the Queen of Heaven," said Hera, " and the
mother of gods and man. The apple is mine by right."
" I am the giver of knowledge and wisdom," said Pallas
Athene, " and through me all things are perfected, and
the wrong is put to right. The apple should be mine."
" I am the Goddess of Love," said Aphrodite, " I am
life itself. My claim is the best of all."
As Peleus looked on them he knew not to which of them
he should give it, for each in turn seemed fairest. And he
was wily withal, and knew he could not give it to one
without angering the other two against him. So he said,
" O lady goddesses, who am I that I should judge
31.3
children of the Dawn
between you ? Choose you 3'our own judge from among
the sons of men, and he shall give the apple to her he
deems the fairest."
Then they consulted together, and chose Paris, the son
of Priam, King of Troy ; for he was the fairest of all mortal
men, and would know how to judge between them. And
they left the halls of Peleus with a smile upon their lips,
but in their hearts was envy and hatred where there had
once been sympathy and love ; for the apple of discord had
fulfilled the purpose of her who gave it.
Now Paris was the second son of Priam and Hecuba, and
brother of Hector, the pride of Troy. The night before he
was born his mother dreamed a dreadful dream — that slie
had given birth to a firebrand which set all Troy aflame.
In terror she sent for her child Cassandra, the priestess of
Apollo, whose word came always true. And she told her
dream, and asked what it could mean. Then Apollo
raised from Cassandra's eyes the veil that hides the future,
and she told her mother the meaning of that dream.
" In mine ears," she cried, " there sounds the din of
battle and the clash of arms. I see round Troy the foe-
men's tents, and their ships drawn up upon the shore. I
see Scamander's stream run red with blood. Through the
desolate streets slinks one whose manhood has departed,
and who shuns the eyes of his fellow-men, for he prized a
woman's arms above his country's honour. That man is
the son that thou shalt bear, and he shall be the curse of
Troy."
When Priam the king heard these words his heart was
filled with anger.
" No son of mine," he cried, " shall bring shame and
314
Paris and CEnone
destruction on my city. When the child is born he shall
be cast out upon the mountains to die ere his eyes can
see the light."
So, notwithstanding his mother's entreaties, as soon as
the child was born he was given to Agelaus the herdsman to
cast out upon the hills. And he took him up to Gargarus,
the topmost peak of Ida, and there he left him to die of
cold and hunger, or to be torn in pieces by the beasts of
prey.
But when the Fates have spoken, their word shall surely
come to pass, whatever man may do. And so it fell
out now. A she-bear, whose cubs the hunters had killed,
found the child, and for five days and five nights she
suckled him, and kept him safe and warm. On the sixth
day Agelaus passed that way once more, looking to find the
child dead, if any trace of him remained. But lo ! nestled
in the moss and fallen leaves, the babe lay sweetly sleeping.
Then he marvelled greatly in his heart.
" Surely," he thought, " this can be no common babe,
and it is the will of Heaven that he should live."
So he picked him up in his arms, and carried him home
to his wife, for long had they prayed the gods in vain for
children. And they brought him up as their own son, and
called his name Paris. As soon as he could walk, he would
go out with his foster-father on the mountains, and keep
watch over the flocks and herds, and he grew to be a tall
and comely lad. For he breathed the pure sweet air of
heaven, and bathed in Ida's rippling streams. Nor did he
lack courage and strength withal. If ever a mountain
lion, made bold by hunger, came down upon the flocks and
carried off a sheep or a goat, whilst the herdsmen fled in
315
children of the Dawn
terror for their lives, he would up and fight him single'
handed with his knife and his shepherd's staff, and it was
not the lion that came off best in that fight. So famous
did he become for his strength and prowess that all about
the countryside men called him Alexander, defender of
men.
Now it came to pass one summer's day that he had
walked for many a long mile across the treeless downs, and
at length he turned, hot and thirsty, into the shade of
the forest. Soon he came upon a mountain stream that
danced foaming over the stones, and he drank of its waters
gladly, and bathed in a clear brown pool ; then, tired out,
he cast himself upon the bank and fell asleep.
When he awoke, the trunks of the pine-trees stood out
purple against the sunset, and the evening light cast over
all things a glamour of mystery. He rubbed his eyes,
thinking he must still be dreaming ; for out of the stream
beside him there rose a wondrous form of a maiden clad all
in misty white. Her hair was like fallen beech-leaves
when the sun shines on them through the trees, and her
eyes were like the changing river that reflects the light of
heaven. She stood before him motionless, and gazed
down upon him where he lay.
" O most wonderful," he whispered, " who art thou ?"
" I am ffinone," she answered, and her voice was like
the music of the brook — " QEnone, the daughter of Cebren,
the river god, whose stream runs dancing at your feet from
the side of wooded Ida. O fairest of mortals, I am lonely
in these mountain glades ; let me watch thy flocks with
thee."
Then she came towards him with botli her hands out-
316
./'--^r^.^C^y/A ,. ^\af^ ../.^:
^ --^
mwwv
Out of the stream beside him there rose a wondroi'.* form of a
maiden clad all in misty white
Pa lis and CE n o n c
stretched. And Paris took her cool white hands in his.
Fair as the crescent moon, she bent over him and raised
him from his knees, and they looked deep into each other's
eyes and loved, as the young and pure alone can love.
From that day forth they watched his flocks together on
the wooded slopes, and wandered hand in hand through
the forests and across the smooth green lawns of Ida.
Meanwhile, since the day when Priam had given his child
to be exposed upon the mountains, many a circling year
had passed, and the day drew near on which, if his son had
lived, he would have held great games and feasted in
honour of his reaching years of manhood. And Priam's
heart within him smote him when he thought of the
innocent babe, and he cast about in his mind how he yet
might do him honour.
" Perchance I acted hastily," he thought, " and by care
and good example my son might after all have been a
blessing to his city and to me. But the dead are dead,
and I cannot call him back to life. Yet will I honour him
as best I may, that in the world below they may know
he is a king's son and not utterly forgotten."
So he ordered great funeral games to be held in honour
of his son, who had died without a name upon the moun-
tains. Far and wide throughout the land the tidings went,
and the lists were made ready, and rich prizes brought to-
gether for the victors. Among them was to be a bull, the
strongest and finest from all the herds of Priam. The
herdsmen drove down their finest cattle to the city for the
king himself to chose, and he choose out a mighty beast
which Agelaus had bred and reared. Now it chanced
that this bull was the favourite of Paris out of all the
319
children of the Dawn
cattle under his charge, and he loved him as some inen
love a dog. When he heard that Agelaus had given him
to be a prize in the games, he waxed exceeding wrath.
" If he is to be any man's prize," he cried, " I shall be
that man."
But Agelaus laughed at him.
" Who art thou," he said, " a foundling and a shep-
herd's foster-son, to enter in the lists against the sons of
kings ?"
" Sons of kings or sons of crows, I care not," he an-
swered. " My arms are as strong and my feet are as
swift as theirs any day. I shall enter for the lists."
The old man chuckled at his words, for he loved the
lad, and was proud of his strength and beauty.
" The gods be praised !" he muttered. '' The mountani
air has not dulled his spirit, nor dried up the royal blood
in his veins."
But Q^none was sad when she heard of his resolve.
" Ah, Paris," she begged, " as thou lovest me, leave
me not to enter for these games."
" But I will come back to thee, beloved. What
difference can it make ?" he asked.
" In my heart pale fear is sitting," she replied. " I
know that if thou goest, it will be the beginning of woes
for thee, and for me, and for all thy native land."
" Nay, thou art over fearful. Thou shalt see, I will
come back with my bull, and thou and I will be happy
together, as we have always been."
" Paris," she said, " that I know will never be, if once
thou joinest in the games. I can see but dimly into the
future, but this much at least I know : that if thou goest,
320
Paris and G^^none
war shall beat about the walls of Troy like a wave of
The sea, and from the midst of the battle I see thee
earned forth wounded unto death. Ah, Paris, leave the
bull for a weaker man, and go not down !"
" Nay. I cannot hearken to such foolishness. What
war can come if I go to Troy for the sake of a bull ?"
" The cause of the war I know not, but come it surely
will. O Paris, in that day com^e back to me, and I will
heal thee of thy hurt ! I know the use of herbs, for many
a strange charm has my father taught me, and if any life
is left in thee, I will call it back. But best of all, stay
with me now, and go not down to the games."
And, weeping, she threw her arms about his neck ; but
nothing she could say would stop him.
So when the day came he went down into the city, and
entered for the lists with the flower of the land, and all
the folk marvelled who he might be. For he was tall
and exceeding fair, and they had never seen his face
before. When the turn came for his match, he set his
teeth and wrestled like a young lion, for the bull that
was the pride of his flock ; and the strength of his
adversaries was turned to weakness. With joy in his
heart, he came forward to take his prize ; and a loud
cheer rose to heaven, for the people were glad that he
had won. And the king's heart went out to him as he
gave the prize, for he was the age his son would have
been had he lived.
" Young man," he said, " who art thou, and who is
thy father ?"
" I am Paris, the foster-son of Agelaus the herdsman,"
he answered.,
321 X
children of the Dawn
" Is thine own sire dead, then ?" asked Priam.
" O king, thou askest me riddles I cannot answer," said
Paris, " seeing I know not even who mine own sire
may be."
" This is a strange matter," said the king, and in spite
of himself his heart beat fast within him.
Now Cassandra the prophetess, his daughter, was
standing by his side, and the time had come for her to
speak.
" O king," she said, " thou hast not far to seek for
the father of this lad."
" What meanest thou ?" said Priam.
" Put thy hands upon the lad's shoulders, and look into
his eyes, and thou shalt see the image of his father,"
she answered.
Trembling between hope and fear, the old king bent
forward from his seat and put his hands upon the young
man's shoulders.
" Can it be — can it really be my son ?" he asked.
" Thy son he is," replied Cassandra, " and no other
man's. The Fates decreed that he should live, and he
has lived."
" My son, my son !" cried the king, and fell upon his
neck. " How I have longed for thee, and my soul has
been weighed down with the burden of thy death ! Now
in mine old age the gods have given thee back to me.
and my heart is glad. For thou art brave and fair, my
son, and any father would be proud of thee, nor fear that
ever thou shouldst bring dishonour on the land."
Once again the old man fell upon his neck and kissed
Inm ; and Hecuba, his mother, held him in her arms, and
322
Paris and CEnone
wept tears of joy over the child she had given up for dead.
His brothers and his sisters crowded round, and all
the people ; and some raised hirn on their shoulders, and
with songs and shouts of joy they took him to the palace
of Priam. There they clothed him in rich raiment, as
befitted a king's son, and held a great feast in his honour ;
for every man was glad that one so fair and noble had
been spared to bring honour to the land of Troy. Cas-
sandra alone sat silent amidst the revelry, for her heart
was cut in two. When she looked upon her brother's
fair young face, she was glad that he had lived ; yet
ever before her eyes there floated the vision she had seen
the night before he was born — a vision of war, un-
manliness and death — and she knew that vision would
come true. When she thought of it she shuddered and
almost wished him dead, and in her heart she cursed that
fatal gift of prophecy which brought her nought but
grief. Verily in her case knowledge was not a thing of joy.
When the guests had departed, the old king took his
son aside.
" I have set a place apart for thee, my son," he said,
" and from this day forth thou must live with thy kins-
folk in the palace."
" I will live with thee right gladly, my father," he
answered, " but my days I will spend upon the mountains
as of yore, and keep watch over thy flocks and herds.
For I love the beasts and the mountain air, and methinks
in a city I should pine for want of my old free life."
TJie form of ffinone rose up before his eyes ; but that
he hid from his father.
" Thou mayest live as best pleases thee, my son,"
323 X 2
children of the Dawn
said Priam, " and I will give thee many goodly flocks
and herds of cattle for thine own."
So it came to pass that, though Paris was a prince
and son of the King of Troy, there was small change in
his manner of life, save that now he lived in his father's
palace instead of the herdsman's hut. For in those days
it was thought no shame even for a prince to be a
shepherd, and keep watch over his own flocks and herds.
It was soon after this that the strife arose among the
goddesses about the apple that Eris had cast in their
midst at the marriage-feast of Pcleus. And Zeus sent
down Iris, the swift-footed messenger of Heaven, to tell
Paris of the charge that was laid on him, and to bear
him the golden apple. Down the path of the rainbow
she sped, the road whereby she always went to and fro
betwixt gods and men. Her shining robes flew out
behind her, and the wings upon her feet and shoulders
glanced like lightning in the sky. At early dawn, while
the dew lay bright upon the ground, she came and stood
in the path as Paris was driving his flocks to pasture.
In one hand she held the staff that Zeus had given her,
to show she was the messenger of Heaven, and in the other
she held the golden apple.
" O fairest of mortals," she said, " I have been sent
to thee by Zeus, who rules on high. In heaven there is
war between the three great goddesses as to which of
them shall have the prize for beauty, this apple thou
seest in mine hand. And they have appointed thee to
be the judge between them. Hold thyself ready, then,
for this day at noon they will come to thee iiere on the
lonely heights of Ida."
324
Paris and Qinone
She spoke, and threw the apple to him, and he caught
it deftly, as a player catches a ball. And wind-footed
Ins sped back by the rainbow path as swift as she had
come.
" This is passing strange," thought Paris, as he gazed
at the apple in his hand, and read the words inscribed
upon it — " For the Fairest." There it lay, smooth and
shining, a sure token that he had not been dreaming.
So he took it and showed it to CEnone, and told her what
Iris, the messenger of the gods, had said to him. When
(Enone heard it she was filled with fear.
" Cast it at their feet, Paris, when they come to thee,"
she begged, " and say thou canst not set thyself up to be
a judge of the Immortals."
" Nay, that would anger them against me," he said ;
for in his heart he was proud to have been chosen out of
all the sons of men.
" I tell thee it will bring thee trouble if thou doest
it, and to me sorrow unspeakable," said she.
" Did the winning of the bull bring sorrow either to thee
or to me ?" he asked scornfully.
(Enone was silent under his rebuke, though she knew
ner foreboding would come true. When the sun was
almost high in the heavens, she came to him softly where
he lay on the grass and kissed his hand.
" Zeus grant thee wisdom in thy judgment, Paris,"
she said, and glided away swiftly through the trees, that
he might not see the tears in her eyes.
Then his heart smote him for his scornful words, and
he rose up hastily from the ground and called to her,
" (Enone, GEnone !"
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children of the Dawn
But she answered him not, and when he looked for
her among the trees, he could find no trace of her. Now
it was close upon noon, and he hastened back to the
glade, where Iris had bidden him stay, and waited for tlie
coming of the goddesses. In the clear bright light of
noontide they came and stood before him in the shade
of the forest trees ; and he fell on his knees before them,
filled with wonder and awe, and cast his eyes upon the
ground, for he was afraid to look upon such majesty and
beauty. Thereupon they drew near to him and bade him
not be afraid, but rise and give his judgment. So he rose
from his knees and looked upon them ; and minute after
minute passed, while still he gazed, for he could not make
up his mind, so passing fair was each.
" Ah, lady goddesses," he said at last, " take the apple
and divide it into three, for I cannot say who is the
fairest among you."
" Nay, that may not be," they said ; " thou must give
it to one, and one alone."
As he still hesitated, Hera spoke.
" Look well upon me, Paris," she said. " I am the
Queen of Heaven, and wife of Zeus almighty, and all
power and might is in my hands. I can give thee king-
ship and sovereignty, and dominion over many peoples.
See to it that my might is for thee, and not against."
As she spoke his heart turned cold with fear, and from
terror he would have given her the apple. But as he
was about to stretch forth his hand, Pallas Athene spoke.
" O Paris, what is power without wisdom ? Purple
and gold, and to sit where others kneel — all these things
make not a king. But to walk by the light of knowledge
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Paris and CEnone
v/heie others grope in darkness — this can make a slave
a ruler of kings. This can I give thee."
Then the voice of reason within him prompted liim
to give the apple to her ; but once again he was withheld,
as Aphrodite spoke.
" Power and wisdom, Paris ? What are these but
empty words at which men vainly grasp ? I can give
thee that which all men covet — the fairest of women for
thine own."
The music of her voice made the blood rush like fire
through his veins, and his heart was melted within him.
" O Aphrodite," he cried, and fell at her feet, " thou
art fairest. Beside love, what is power, what is wisdom ?
I give thee the apple, O thou fairest among the fair !"
As she stretched forth her hand towards him to take
the apple, a mist fell over his eyes, and he knew no more.
When he awoke the apple and the goddesses had vanished
away, and Q^none was bending over him weeping.
" Alas," she said, " my father, whose stream runs at
thy feet, has told me thy choice, Paris, and I am come
to bid thee farewell."
" Farewell, CEnone ? Why farewell ?" he cried, and
stretched out his arms to her. The flame of Aphrodite
still burned in his heart, and to his eyes Qinone had never
looked more fair than now.
" Because of Aphrodite's promise," she answered.
" Ah, (Enone !" he cried, and took her in his arms,
" now I know what that promise meant. Thou art the
fairest of women, and thou art mine, beloved, and Aphro-
dite's promise was fulfilled ere she made it."
" Nay, nay, that is not what she meant. I may be
327
Children of the Dawn
fair, Paris, yet I am no woman, but a child of the momi'
tain waters. One day thou wilt forget me, and thy
heart will turn to thine own kind. In that day Aphrodite
has promised that the fairest of women shall be thine,
and she will surely keep her word."
" Thou art woman enough for me," he said, " and I
shall never want any other than thee." He kissed
her, and comforted her as best he could. The hours
fled by like minutes, the moon rose high in heaven,
and one by one the stars came out, yet still they sat and
talked of love, and of how they would be faithful to each
other always. In like manner day after day passed by,
and no two lovers in all the land were happier than Paris
and (Enone.
Now it chanced that about this time Menelaus, King
of Sparta, came to Troy, at the command of the oracle
at Delphi. For a year past his land had been laid waste
by a grievous famine, and when he inquired the cause of
it, the oracle bade him go to Troy and offer sacrifices
at the tomb of Lycus and Chimaereus, the sons of Prome-
theus, for until their spirits were appeased the land of
Sparta would be barren, and her sons would die of hunger
in her streets. So Menelaus set sail for Troy, and Priam
and all his house received him with joy. They held great
feasts in his honour, and treated him hospitably, as
befitted the king of a mighty people. When he had
performed his task, and the time had come for him to
return, he said to Priam,
" My friend, thou hast treated me right royally, and I
in my turn would fain do thee some service. Say, wilt
thou not sail with me to Sparta, and see my palace, which
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Paris and CEn o n e
shineth as the sun for splendour, and Helen, my wife, who
is the fairest in a land where the women are fairer than all
other women ?"
But Priam shook his head.
" I am an old man, IMenelaus, and my travelling days
are done. But if thou wouldst truly do me a service,
thou wilt take with thee my son Paris as thy guest. He
is of an age now to travel and see strange lands, and I
could not entrust him to better hands than thine. Say,
wilt thou take him or no ?"
" I will take him right gladly," answered Menelaus,
" seeing that since I cannot have thyself, no other man
would please me so well as thy son. Bid the young man
be ready, and he shall sail with me and my folk."
When Paris heard the news, he was glad ; for never in
his life had he set foot outside the land of Troy, and he
longed to see the riches of Menelaus and all the wonders
of his palace in Sparta. Ere the sun had risen he was in
the woods of Ida telling (Enone of the voyage he must take.
" Nay, grieve not, beloved," he said, as she turned her
face sadly away ; " for a few short months I must leave
thee, but I will come back to thee with many a long tale
of the wonders I have seen. There is nought like travel to
make a man hold up his head among his fellows, and the
seeing of strange things that others have not seen."
" There is nought like travel," she said, " to make a
man forget his home, and love the new things better than
the old."
" Dost thou think me so faithless, CEnone ?"
" Many men are faithful till they meet temptation,"
she replied.
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children of the Dawn
" Had I listened to thee, I should still have been a
shepherd on the mountains, knowing neither kith nor
kin."
" It would have been happier so," said she.
" CEnone, I must not heed thy fears. Remember, I
am a king's son, and I must live my life as befits a man,
and not be ever held back by a woman's arms."
" The gods grant thou mayest always think so, Paris.
Fare thee well, then ; I will stay thee no longer, but I will
watch for thy coming as never woman watched before. If
evil fortune befall thee, Paris, come back to me, and I will
save thee."
So, with many a promise not to forget her, but to come
back to her as soon as might be, he left her and set sail
with Menelaus.
And they crossed the blue ^Egaean and came to glorious
Sparta, lying low among the circling hills. And Menelaus
made his guest welcome, and showed him all the splen-
dours of his palace, with its inlaid columns and its frieze
of gold and blue. His stable and horses did he show him,
and the stadium where the races were run and his treasure-
house beneath the ground. Last of all he took him to
Helen, his wife.
Now Helen, fairer than the sun in heaven, was sitting
among her maidens, and wnen her lord and Paris entered,
she rose from her chair and came forward with a smile
to greet them. In the curve of her neck, in the gleam
of her hair, there was magic, and a witchery about her
face and form that no man could withstand ; for she was
the fairest of all women under the sun, that ever had been
or ever should be in time to come. Many a man in his
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Paris and CE n o n e
day loved Helen of Sparta, and many a man did she love
in return ; for so the gods had made her, exceeding fair and
exceeding fickle, a joy and a curse among men.
As Paris looked upon her, her beauty reached his heart
like the fumes of wine, and he forgot himself and his
native land and ffinone ; he forgot all pride and manli-
ness, and the ties of honour that bound him to his host —
all but his passion for Helen. Day and night he thought
of her and of her alone, and of how he might make her his
own ; and day and night he plotted and planned, and at
last he gained his end. For Aphrodite, true to her word,
helped him, as she alone could do, and kindled in the heart
of Helen an answering flame, making her for the time
being love Paris more than Menelaus, her lord, or any other
man. And she cast dust in the eyes of Menelaus, so that
he saw not how the two lived only for each other, nor
suspected his guest of any treachery. So one dark night
they fled away together to Gythium, and from thence they
sailed to Cranae, and were wedded, and had joy of their
love, forgetful of all else.
ffinone, meanwhile, wandered lonely about the woods
and groves of Ida. With a heavy heart she had watched
the ships of Menelaus sail away, and now, day by day, she
would go down to the shore and look out across the sea
towards Hellas. High up upon a rock she would sit and
sigh for him.
" Ah, Paris, between thee and me lies many a weary
league of barren waters and many a misty mountain chain.
But my heart is with thee in that strange new land. Oh,
Paris, forget me not, but come back to me soon, beloved."
Thus would she sigh day by day; but he came not.
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children of the Dawn
Month after month passed by, and still he came not, nor
any news of him, and his father and all the city were
troubled to know what might have befallen him. So they
manned a ship, and sent it out to Sparta to get news, and
in time it returned home to tell how Paris and Helen had
fled from Menelaus, and how Menelaus had set out in
pursuit, and had followed them to the land of Egypt.
After that no man knew where they had gone, or whether,
perchance, Paris and Menelaus had met in deadly battle
and fallen each by the other's hand, or what might have
chanced. All the land was plunged in woe to think that
Paris had so far forgotten his honour as to steal away
the wife of his host. But still they kept watch by day
and by night, in case he should come back and be per-
suaded to give her up and make what amends he could.
Paris, meanwhile, with Helen, had fled before Menelaus
from Egypt, and had taken refuge in Phoenicia ; and when
he traced them there, they fled once more and took ship
to return to Troy ; for they could not live for ever as
wanderers on the face of the earth. With the silence of
shame the folk received them at the harbour, and amid
silence, that spoke more than words, they made their way
through the city and came and stood before Priam in his
halls, with eyes downcast upon the ground. Now Priam
had heard of their coming, and had prepared in his mind
a wrathful speech wherewith to greet his son and the
woman who had led him astray. But when he looked
upon Helen his wrath melted away like frost before the
sun ; for she stood like a fair lily that some careless hand
has half plucked from its stem, so that its head hangs
di'ooping towards the dust. Even so did she stand, with
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Paris and Qi n o n e
the tear-drops falling from her eyes. And all the wrathful
words faded from his mind, so that he spoke quite other-
wise than he had planned.
" My children," he said gently, " come hither to me."
They came and knelt before him, and he laid his
hands upon their young shoulders, as they bowed their
heads and wept upon his knees.
" Ye have grievously sinned, my children," he said,
" and ye are learning, all too late, how bitter is the fruit
of sin. There is but one course before you. Paris, give
back the woman thou hast stolen, and make what honour-
able amends thou canst. And thou, Helen, go home with
thy lord when he comes for thee, and be a faithful wife
to him always, and make him forget that ever thou didst
play him false."
" O King," she said, " thou knowest not what thou
askest. If thou givest me up to Menelaus he will slay me,
or else my life will be a dog's life in his halls ; for his heart
is no softer than a flint, though his tongue be smooth. O
my father, cast me not out from thy halls. If I have
sinned in leaving Menelaus, shall I not sin again in leaving
Paris ? Or shall my sin be less if I flee from the man I
love, to go with him I love not ? Who maketh two hearts
to cleave together ? Who but Aphrodite all-powerful ?
Must we set at nought the will of Heaven for the sake of
laws that man has made ? O Priam, my father, forsake
me not, but keep me in thy halls."
And she clasped her hands about his knees and looked
up into his face. Beneath her gaze all his resolve gave
way, and he took her face between his hands and kissed
her.
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children of the Dawn
" My daughter," he said, " thou shalt stay with ine as
long as it shall please thee."
Thus did it come to pass that she made her home m
Troy, and Priam, the king, became an accomplice in her
sin ; for the gods had so made her that the hearts of men
were as wax between the fingers of Helen of Sparta.
In time came Menelaus, and stood in the halls of Priam,
and demanded back his wife. And they offered him a
ransom — gold and precious stones — but he flung it back
in their faces.
" Think you that gold can pay for a living soul ?" he
cried. " Only a life can pay for a life, and many a life
shall you pay for the sake of Helen. Look to your battle-
ments and towers, O Priam ; they must be strong indeed
to stand against the host that I shall bring behind me from
Hellas. Farewell, till we meet again in battle."
And he strode from the hall in anger, and sailed away
to Sparta, to rouse up all the heroes of Hellas to take part
in his quarrel with Troy.
Meanwhile in Troyland the forge fires burnt night and
day, and the hammer rang loud upon the anvil. The
red-hot iron was drawn from the furnace and bound
hissing about the chariot-wheel ; shields were stretched
and swords were fashioned, and the ash-tree was felled
upon the mountain for the handle of the tapering spear.
Among the men many a heart beat high with hope ; for
what is there like war, if a man is brave and strong, to
bring him renown, and make his name live among his
fellows ? But in the women's hall many a silent tear
was shed ; for what is there like war to bring sorrow to
a woman's heart, when she sees her dear ones going forth
334
Paris and CE n o n ^
to battle and knows not whether she shall ever look op
their faces again, or, perchance, see them carried home
with a gaping spear-wound in the side ? And when the
battle is raging she can do nought but pray. So they
cursed Helen and her beauty in their hearts, and wished
that even now King Priam would send her back and
stave off the war from Tro}'.
But Paris and Helen cared for none of these things ;
while others worked and wept, they dallied in each other's
arms and forgot all else, or hoped that when Menelaus
reached home his anger would cool, and that he would find
the kings of Hellas none too willing to leave their lands
for the sake of another's wife. But in this they hoped in
vain, and reckoned not how dear a man may hold his
country's honour. For one dark night the hosts of Hellas
pulled in to shore, and drew up their boats upon the beach
and pitched their camp, and when the morning dawned
their men were thick as flies about the walls of Troy.
So did it come to pass that Cassandra's words came
true, and for many a weary year the tide of war surged
about the city like a wave of the sea, and Paris slunk
through the streets like a beaten cur, not daring to look
his fellows in the face. For they hated him because he
had brought war upon his country, and yet, though the
quarrel was of his own making, he was ever the last to
take the field and ever the first to retreat. So low had his
manhood sunk that he thought far more of reaching Helen
with an unbroken skin than of winning fame upon the
field of battle.
But one day matters reached a pass when Menelaus met
him face to face upon the field, and challenged him to
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Children of the Dawn
single combat beneath the walls of Troy. He who
should kill his man should have Helen for wife, and the
war should end, and no more lives be spent in vain for
the sake of a quarrel that concerned but two. But Paris
thought of Helen waiting in her chamber, and looked upon
Menelaus, standing sword in hand before him, strong as a
lion in his wrath. Then his heart gave way within him, and
he turned and fled from the face of his foe back into the
ranks of the Trojans. He would have fled from the fight
altogether, but that in the path of his retreat stood Hector;
the nodding plumes waved terrible upon his helmet, and
he leant on his two-handed sword and frowned upon
his brother, for he had seen how he fled from IMenelaus.
When Paris saw him he fell back ashamed, but Hector
stood aside to let him pass.
" Thou chicken-hearted mannikin," he cried, " get thee
gone, and let others fight thy battle, that the courage of
the Trojans be not a by- word among the nations."
And Paris slunk past him with his eyes upon the ground,
and went home to Helen in her chamber.
But when the fight was over Hector came and dragged
him from his hiding-place as a dog drags out a rat into the
light.
" Thou smooth-faced deceiver," he said, " is this the
way a man should fight when he has sailed across the high
seas, and stolen away the fairest of women from a man
mighty in battle ? Are we to make the name of Troy a
laughing-stock among our foes, and hang our heads in shame
when men shall say, ' In strength and might they are like
the immortal gods, these Trojans, but their courage is the
courage of the deer, that flees swiftly through the forest
336
Paris and CEnone
when he hears the bark of the hounds ?' Thou coward,
would thou hadst never been born, or hadst died upon the
mountains ere there was time to bring dishonour on thy
country."
And Paris trembled before his brotlier's wrath, but some
of his old manhood returned to him.
" Thou speakest as all men speak who know not Aphro-
dite's power," he said. " Nevertheless, if thou wilt have
it so, send forth a herald to Menelaus, and tell him I accept
his challenge, and will fight him for the sake of Helen, his
wife. And let the hosts of the Achaeans and the hosts of
Troy lay down their arms, and we two will stand up alone
between them, and whichsoever of us shall fall in death,
his side shall give up Helen to the victor ; and the war
shall cease, and peace be made between the nations."
So Hector sent forth a herald to Menelaus, and the two
hosts drew close together on the plain till there was but a
narrow space between them, and they laid aside their arms,
and some lay upon the ground or sat, and others stood
behind to watch the fight in the midst. And Paris put on
his shining armour and his helmet with the nodding
plumes, and went and stood face to face with Menelaus.
In the sight of all the people Hector prayed,
" O Zeus, who rulest from on high, grant that he who
is the offender may fall in the fight, and his spirit flee away
to Hades, that the land may have peace and the people
rest from war."
And every man in his heart prayed likewise, for all were
sickened at the long years of fruitless strife.
Then Hector shook the lots in his helmet, to see who
should be the first to hurl his brazen spear, and the lot of
337 Y
children of the Dawn
Paris fell forth upon the ground. And he brandished his
spear above his head, and hurled it with all his might, and
it crashed against the shield of Menelaus ; but the stout
shield turned it aside, and it fell powerless upon the
ground. Thereupon Menelaus in his turn hurled his spear,
and it pierced through the shield of his foe, and would
have brought black death to his heart had he not swerved
aside, so that the point but grazed his corselet. But
JMenelaus, seeing his advantage, drew forth his sword and
rushed upon him, and felled him a mighty blow upon his
helmet, hoping to cleave it in two. But the sword
shivered to pieces in his hand as he struck. Then, with
an oath, he cast aside the hilt and leapt upon Paris, and
seized him by the horsehair plume upon his helmet, and
dragged him down. And the leathern thong that held
the helmet was drawn tight about his throat, so that the
breath was wellnigh squeezed out of him, and Menelaus
was bearing him in triumph towards the Achaean host.
But Aphrodite was mindful of her favourite, and, ere
it was too late, she made the stout ox-hide give way
beneath the weight of his body, and the helmet slipped off
his head. Then she wrapped a mist about his body, so
that no man should see him, and bore him away through
the midst of the Trojan host, and laid him upon his bed.
In the likeness of an aged dame she went and stood beside
Helen on the battlements, where she leant with the other
Trojan women looking down upon the plain, and she told
her how she had borne forth Paris from the fight and
saved him, and that now he lay upon his bed and longed
for her. So^traightway Helen left the others, and went
and sat down by Paris. When she saw him lying there,
338
Mer.elaus was bearing him in triumph towards the Achocan host.
Y 2
Paris and CEnone
without so much as a scratch upon his body, she was
ashamed for him, and began to upbraid him.
" So thou hast come back from the battle, Paris, and
couldst not endure to stand up to god-hke Menelaus.
Would that he had taken thee, for he is a better man than
thou art ! Go forth now, thou craven, and challenge him
once more to battle, and stay thy ground like a man.
Lo ! thou art vanished away like smoke from the field, and
both the hosts are making mock of thee."
Then her heart smote her for fear he should take her at
her word and go back, and she fell upon her knees beside
him, and took his hand in hers and wept.
" Ah, Paris," she cried, " go not forth, I pray thee, but
stay with me. I, even I, do bid thee stay, lest thou fall
by the hand of Menelaus, and I be left all desolate with-
out thee."
" Ah, Helen," he said, " upbraid me not, for I love thee
above all else. Some other day I will return and fight
with Menelaus, but now I will stay with thee, and we will
have joy of each other and forget all else "
So whilst Menelaus searched raging through all th-^.
host, like a lion seeking for his prey, Paris and Helen
dallied in each other's arms, hidden from the eyes of
men. An ill reckoning would it have been for Paris had
the men of Troy known where to find him, for they hated
him like black death, and would have given him up to
the hands of Menelaus, to do by him as he would.
From that day forth Paris scarce dared to show his face
among his fellows ; but when Hector urged him, and he
could stand out against his taunts no longer, he would
go forth into the battle, but disguised as a common soldier,
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children of the Dawn
with no mark upon him of his rank and birth. So did
he hope to escape death and flee home as swift as might
be to the arms of Helen. In this he succeeded full w^ell
for a time, but a day came when no disguise could save
him and he could not flee away. For in the ranks against
him stood mighty Philoctetes, with his bow and his
poisoned arrows. And he drew his bow and -prayed
to Zeus in his heart,
" O Zeus almighty, that drivest the black thunder-
cloud before thee, do thou guide mine arrow aright, that
it may work havoc among our foes and bring glory to
the host of the Achasans. In thy hands I leave it."
Then he drew back the string, so that the mighty bow
was wellnigh bent in two, and the arrow sped with a
whirr far over the foremost ranks of the Trojans to the
rear part of the host. And it fell upon Paris, and pierced
between the joints of his armour right through into his
side. With a groan he fell, and black night came over
his eyes, and he lay as one dead upon the field. When
the fight was over, and either side was gathering up the
dead and wounded from the plain, they came upon Paris
among the rest ; but till they had drawn off his helmet
they knew him not, for he was dressed as a common soldier.
When they saw who it was, they put him reverently on
a bier apart, for he was a king's son, and had been a brave
% maji once, and death can wipe out many an old score
of bitterness and hatred. So they bore him upon their
shoulders silently to the palace of Priam his father, and
laid him upon his couch. And they brought him wine and
cordials, for his heart beat faintly still within his breast.
For a moment he revived, and spoke in broken whispers.
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Paris and CEnone
" My friends, I am dying," he said, " and I would die
in the pure free air of heaven, away from cities and from
men and from my shame. O my father, bid them carry me
forth upon Ida, and there let them leave me, and return
no more till they know the last breath must have gone
from my body. Then let them burn me there, where
once I was brave and free ; and as the fire of my burning
shall die out, so let my name die out from among you —
my name and my dishonour."
So did he speak, and fell back exhausted, with the
vision before his eyes of the groves of Ida and of (Enone,
and of how she rose from the waters and loved him in
the days of his innocent youth. And he remembered
her words :
" O Paris, in that day come back to me, and I will
heal thee of thy hurt."
And he wondered whether she would keep her word
and forgive him and heal him, so that they could go back
to their old life upon the mountains. But even if she
would not, he felt that he would rather die there than in
the airless city.
So they wrapped him about in warm coverings — for
it was winter-time, and the snow lay white upon the
ground — and carried him forth upon Ida. And they
placed a blazing torch above his head and left him on the
lonely heights, and the whispering pine-trees kept watch
above him as they tossed their arms in the cold north
wind.
From the shadow of a boulder (Enone watched the
procession wind back down the mountain-track, and
when they had passed out of sight she came forth from
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Children of the Dawn
her hiding-place. The tale of Paris and Helen she knew
full well, and the reason of the war, for she had listened
to the talk of the shepherds on the mountains. But
still in her heart she loved Paris ; and when she saw
him carried forth to die, she remembered how she had
promised to heal him of his hurt, for she knew many a
magic charm, and she could heal him if she would. So
now she drew near to him out of the forest, and bent over
his couch, and her red-gold hair fell soft about his face.
But the fire of fever burnt hot within him, and he knew
her not ; but the face that came before his wandering
mind was the face of Helen.
" Helen !" he whispered, " Helen !"
At the sound of that hated name a great bitterness
came into the heart of CEnone.
" Must I heal thee for the sake of Helen ?" she cried,
and turned and fled through the darkened pines, on, on,
she knew not where, and threw herself at last upon the
grass and wept.
And so the torch burned low above his head and cast
a dim red glow upon the snow, and he died alone of his
fever upon the mountains, and she healed him not of his
hurt.
The next morning came the young men from the city,
and the sons of Priam, and the old king himself, to the
place where Paris lay ; for they knew full well that he
could not have lived out that night upon the mountains.
And they gathered together the pine-trunks which the
woodmen had left felled upon the ground, and heaped
up a great pyre, high up upon the hills, so that the burning
of Paris might shine like a beacon fire in the sight of Troy
344
Cast herself upon ^^e body of Paris, and put her arms about
his neck.
Paris and CEnonc
and of the Achaean host. When the pyre was built the}-
placed the body on it, and poured out wine and oil upon
the wood, and the old king stood and lifted up his hands
above his son.
" O father Zeus," he prayed, " who rulest upon Ida,
before thee do I burn the body of my son, and before my
friends and before my foes, that they both may see it.
May the wine which I pour forth upon his body be a
libation of peace, that by his death he may join together
in friendship those hands which by his sin he made to
draw the sword upon each other. O Zeus almighty,
grant my prayer !"
The people bowed their heads as they heard, and the
old man poured forth the last libation. The salt tears
ran from his eyes and fell upon the body of his son, and
washed away from his mind all memory of his sin and
cowardice, and only the image of him remained as he had
been when he came in his youth and beauty for the
winning of the bull. So can the hand of death wipe
out all ugliness and wrong.
When the last libation had been poured, they set
the pyre alight, and in time it burned up bravely, for the
oil and the wine, and the breath of the north wand blowing
bleak across the mountain, made the flame burn bright
and clear ; and the pyre of Paris shone like a flaming
star against the dull grey sky and over the hills and plain
lying silent beneath their pall of snow. Far away across
the valley CEnone saw the light, and knew that the body
of him she loved, and might have saved, lay perishing
within the flames. All too late, the bitterness in her
heart died out, and only the love remained, and she
347
children of the Dawn
would have given all she knew to have healed Paris of his
hurt. With a wild cry she rushed, on the wings of the
storm-wind, down the valley and up the hillside, and her
white robes flew out behind her and the long locks of
her red-gold hair. Through the ranks of the mourners
she rushed and over the melting snow, through the
flames of the pyre, and cast herself upon the body of
Paris and put her arms about his neck. There, on his
last resting-place, she lay with him, and the stifling
smoke closed about her, and her spirit fled away there,
where his had gone before. The people heard her cry,
and saw her as she flew through their midst ; but they
thought it was the shriek of the north wind rushing over
the hills, and to their eyes her white robes and her flowing
hair seemed but the snowdrift, and last year's dead
leaves whirled madly on the wings of the storm. And
so they knew nought of the love of Paris and (Enone, or
of how she watched his flocks with him when he was
brave and free, or of how she forgave him, all too late,
and died with him in the pyre which burned for a beacon
of peace upon the snow-clad hills.
THR F.NJ>
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
ClHCULAir .N DtPARTMiiNT
NATHAN STRAUS MANCH 348 EAST 32nd STREET
Wells Gardner, S)arton, ^ (So., Jbtd.
Selected List of their
7ine Mrt Series
Specially adapted for Presents, Prizes, dc.
Illustrated by Margaret Clayton
A
Wonder-
Book
of Beasts
Edited by
F. J. HARVEY DARTON
Besides numerous Black and
White Illustrations, the Title-
page and Frontispiece are
daintily coloured.
Tjxrge crown 8ro. jwinted on superfine paper, cloth boards. \
J
Illustrated by F. D. Bedford
Centenary Edition.
The ^Original Poems'
AND OTHERS
By JANE and ANN TAYLOR
And ADELAIDE O'KEEFE
Edited
By E. V. LUCAS
' The quah'ty of the poetry of the
Misses Taylor has been pi-aised by
such great Judries that any praise
from ourselves would be supcrfiu-
ons. yo other writers of ch ildren's
poetry hare written of childish
incident with all the child's sim-
pi icily. '— Si'ECTATOR.
^ Mr. Bedford's illustrations ore
not only very \rcll drairn, but in-
s])ired byju.st the rif/ht fcelinrj. It
may be added that the Taylors
were recdly the founders of a
school. They gave a form and
character to nursery verse which
have become classic, and have been
followed more or less by a long
line of later writers.'— Standahd.
' Thanks are clue to that deliccde
lover of literature and of children,
Mi: E. V. Lucas, for reprinting
this veritable classic'
Times of India.
•Why sliould you fear to tell the truth?'—?). 71.
Large Crown 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth boards.
Wells (jardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by F. D. Bedford
Runaways
Castaways
Edited with Introduction by E. V. LUCAS
Besides profuse black
and white illustrations, the
frontispiece and title - page
are daintily coloured.
' Mr. E. V. Lucas has de-
liberately set himself to cap-
ture hearts nhile young and
tender. . . . In ticenty years
he will have become such a
power in the land as to be
a national danger, and Jiis
Tiew work, "Rtctiaicays and
Castaicays," is only another
step towards this enviable
destiny.' — Times.
' A collection of the most
exciting and delightful run-
atcay stories in the world.'
Nation.
Large ci'own 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth hoards.
Illustrated by F. D. Bedford
Another Book of Verses
For Children
Selected and Edited by E. V. LUCAS
Profusely Illustrated in
Black and White, witli
Frontispiece and Title
page beautifully printed
in Colour.
'A delightful compila-
tion, and rioticeably ex-
cellent in the method oj
its arrangement.'
Atiien^um.
* We may briefly and
ernphatically describe it
as the most charming an-
thology for children that
we have seen, original in
choice and arrangement,
beautifully bound, and
owing no little to Mi.
F. D. Bedford's delight-
ful and sympathetic
illustrations.'
Guardian.
' Most happily selected.
Moreover, the light and
humorous verse — verse
harmless ivithout any
obvious moral — is too
much neglected, for chil-
dren like to be amused,
and this need is some-
times forgotten.'
Spectator.
'The volume is in itselj
a real gift-book, being ad-
mirably bound, printed,
and illustrated.'
The World.
Large croicn 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth hoards.
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
Fairy Tales
FROM
Grimm
'Of )icic editions of old favour if cs
the j^nltn nuist he given, loe think,
to this collection of Fairy Tales
from Grimm. . . . We do not think
a better edition has appeared.'
Review of Reviews.
' No more acceptable edition of
some of Grinmis Stories has been
published.' — Standard.
' A Itogeiher deligh ffuL 1 he illus-
trations are full of charm and
sympathy.'' — Saturday Review.
' A fairy book beyond
reproach.' — Graphic.
'We have notJiing but
jyraise for this collec-
tion.'— Sketch.
' Grimm is alicaya
delightful, but in his
2orese7it neio dress he
is tnore delightful than
ever. Mr. Gordon
Broivne charms its al-
ways with his dainty
j)jc<u7-es.'— Guardian.
' All the illustra-
tions are simply
— ^ inimitable.'
Queen,
'The Prince who was afraid
of Nothing.'— jj. 216.
Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by A. G. Walker
A Book of
Ballad
Stories
Selected and Edited by
MARY MACLEOD
With Introduction by
EDWARD DOWDEN
' Bnyond it rose a castle fair
Y-built of marble stone ;
The battlcnieiits were gilt with gold.
And glittered in the sun.'— p. 129.
' Miss Mart/ ^facIend
hns succeeded ndtnirahhj
in keepiiiff much of thfi
spirit of (he ori</iiiah in
/ her prose versions of the
hestoftheoldh(tlhtds.'
Tri.th.
* Should take a high
place. In (his icork tho
famous ballads have
been done into prose
so skilfulhi, and have
been so artisticnlli/ illus-
trated, that it forms a
volume to be Highly
prized.' — Standard.
' She stoutly steered the stots about.'— p. 110.
Large croion 8vo. printed on snperfine paper, cloth boards.
Illustrated by F. D. Bedford
' Sat him astride of the saddle of imitton.'
}j. r.'C.
Old-fashioned
Tales of
Long Ago
Edited with Introduction by
. E. V. LUCAS
Besides numerous black and white
Illustrations, the Frontispiece and
Title-page are beautifully printed
in Colours.
' A charming hook. The one ambi-
tion of 3lr. lyiicas' authors in to be
interesting, and they succeed very
well.'' — Daily Tei.egiiaph.
' lieautifnlly printed, illustrated,
(I lid bound." — Schooi.mastkr.
Tales are given from the following
Popular Authors : — Thomas Da}',
INIaria Eclpeworth, Mrs. Sherwood,
Anne Letitia Barhauld, Charles and
jNlary Lamb, Jacob Abbott, Alicia
Catherine IMant, Caroline Barnard,
Peter Parley, Catherine Sinclair,
Dr. Aiken. The authors of some
of the best tales in the volume are
unknown.
' A large hole burst open in the
Large civwii Sco. -printed nn superfine paper, cloth boards.
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
Th]
And your experience makes you sad?'— 79. 152.
Shakespeare Story Book
^d
By MARY MACLEOD
With Introduction
By SIDNEY LEE
^Mr. Sidney Lee, (i quite imivi]jeac7iahle
aiithority, strongly recommends this neio
foliDtie, for u-liich indeed Miss Madeod's
literary rcpnttdion itill commend a favoiir-
(ible Iiearing. This neic renderi^ig has been
very icell done. Mr. Gordon Droune's illns-
trations add another charm to a very aitractivti
book.' —Spectator.
' Miss Macleod has folloued the plot more
closely' than Mary and Charles Land), and a
charming book of stories is the result.' — Truth.
Large crown S^c. printed on superfine
paper, cloth boards.
Some have greatness thrust upon them.'— p. xiv.
Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
IlJustrated by Hugh Thomson
/snIales of the
LL^
RETOLD
FROM
CHAUCER
A.ND OTHER
WRITERS
By
F. J. HARVEY
DARTON
Canterbury
Pilgrims
With Introduction
I e
y hogs trotted.'— p. 122.
Large 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth boardS)
Bv Dr. F. T. FURNIVALL ' The cow ran, the calf ran. and even
the very hogs trc
Wells Gardner, Darton, ^ Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
iLLusniA'TLO ay
^- -^^- ■ ^^^
Fairy
Tales from
Hans
Andersen
Introduction
By EDWARD CLODD
Large Crown 8vo. printed
on superfine paper, fancy
cloth boards.
Reduced, facsimile of cover.
' The illustrations leave nothing to he rtesired.'— Standard.
'This is really a seasonable for all Christmases.'—Fu^CH.
'A delightful gift for children.'— Timks oi India.
From
'The Ugly
Duckling.*
p. 110.
Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
SN IMTROriNG HISTORY FOR OLD BOTS, TOUNG
BOrS, GOOD BOTS, BJD BOrS, BIG BOTS, LITTLE
Bors, coir Bors, jnd tom bots
"I create you General of
the Comuiitiuriirt.'— ;). 171.
The Surprising
Adventures of
Sir Toady Lion
With those of
General Napoleon Smith
By S. R. CROCKETT
' When ice say it is one of the most
delightfid stories about cliildroi tve have
ever read, we are still short of the mark.'
Daily Chronicle.
'It is distinctly the best Christmas book
of the seaso)i.'— Daily Mail.
'In this excellent book for children,
which the elders will enjoy, Mr. Crockett
comes righ aioay from kailyard into a
kingdom of obstreperous fancy, and is
purely, delightfully funny, and not too
Scotch. . . . Mr. Gordon Browne's illus-
trations are as good a treat as the story ;
they recdise every thought and intention,
of the writer, and are full of a sly and
characteristic drollery all the artist's
oU'Ji.'- -World.
Large crown 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth boards,
Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated
A. G. Walker
*A very beautiful (jift -buok.
Deeply interesting to cmy in-
telligent child, and the beauty
of the old romances loill
appeal strongly to any iniagi-
natiie mind, young or old.' —
The Wokld.
' Very ivell re-told . ... an
excellent introduction to the
treasures of the old literature.'
—Daily Mail.
Reduced Corcr Design.
A Wonder Book of Old
Romance
By F. J.
HARVEY DARTON
CONTENTS
WlI.LIAJI AXl) THE VV^ERKWOLF.
King Robkrt of Sicilv.
Sir Cleges and the Cherries.
Sir Gawaiv and the Green Knigm r.
The Fair Unknown.
King Horn.
The Seven Wise Masters.
Sir Deg:»re and the Broken Swohd
Guv OF Warwick.
The Ash and the Hazel.
pLonis and Blanchefi.eur.
a.mys and a.myi.ion.
Havei.oe the Dane.
'Alack, dear lion, who has done this
wrong?'— 6r«y of Warwick, p. 302.
Large crotcn 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth hoards.
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
' Old King Cole was a merrj- old soul.'-p. 1.
National Rhymes of the
Nursery
With Introduction
By
GEORGE SAINTSBURY
' The prettiest and moat complete
collection of this kind that we have
secH.'— Wf.stminster Gazette.
'It is impossible to praise the volume
too highly.'— BhACK and White.
'Every conceivable nursery rhyme
is herein gathered together, beauti-
fully illustrated. The collection /.s-
certainly the mo.-it perfect that has
ever been made.'— School Guardia.v
' Standard authority.'— Times.
*A very compilcte collection.''
Pall Mall Gazette.
Large crown 8vo. printed on superfine paper, bound in
art linen boards,
Bl'COR.Olw BK.OWNE
Wells Gardner, Darton, 6- Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
SiNTRAM &" His Companions
AND Undine
Py DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE
With Introduction
By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
'The anonymous translation is the good old standard one.
Vastly superior to subsequent vei-s ions. '—Times.
'Certain to engage the sympathies of an entirely neic set of
readers.'— Daily Telegraph.
'Nothing could be more attractive than the form in which this
excellent edition is sent forth.'— Rkcorv.
'A better present for a thoughtful lad or lass could hardly
be.'— Church Times.
Large crown 870. printed on superfine paper, cloth
boards.
Sintrarn and his companions.— i^»'o»H p. 139.
Wells G.^rdner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by F. M. Rudland
The History of the
Fairchild Family
By
Mrs. SHERWOOD
Edited
with Introduction t^,
By
MARY E. PALGRAVE
' A better gift-book is not east/
to find than this pleasing edition
of a deservedly popular sforg.'
Daily News.
* We hare seen few more de-
lightful volumes.' — Record.
' ** The History of the Fairchild
Family " has never appeared in
a more attractive form.'
Scotsman.
p. 68
Large 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth boards.
Wells (tardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by Hugh Thomson
Tales from
Maria Edgeworth
With Introduction by AUSTIN DOBSON
Waste Not, Want Not: or. Two Strings to your Bow.— p. 191.
' One of the best of the new editions that the 2yresent Christmas
has called forth. Strangers to the fascinating pen of Maria Edge-
ivorth could not have a better volume in tvhich to learn tchat they
have been missing.' — Times.
• Exceedingly attractive.''— Sfectatoh.
"■ Nothing could be more admirably carried ot'i'— BOOKMAN.
Large 8vo. printed on superfine paper, cloth boards.
Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Ltd., London
Illustrated by Gordon Browne
"^7 r^
A Chapter Heading.
Sir Toady Crusoe
By S. R. CROCKETT
t
m.
T icill thorough-
ly satisfy the
children's most
fastidious
taste.''
Morning
Leader.
' The best book for children, if
not the best book ice have seen this
year.' — Westminster Gazette.
'We ha ve seen nothing for a long
time to equal the admirable illiis-
tralions.' -Dundee Courier.
' Watch 'cm, boy ! ' said Dinkey.— p. 245.
Uirye crown Sro. printed on superfine j)<^per, cloth boards.
Illustrated by F. D. Bedford
mk Forgotten Xales
OF
Long Ago
Edited with Introduction by
E. V. LUCAS
Beside numerous Black and White Illustrations, the Frontispiece and Title-page
are in Colours.
The Contents hi chide:
Dicky Ravoom ; Jemima Placid;
Two TitiALs; The Fruits of Dis-
OBEDIENCK ; TlIE ThUEE CaKES ;
ScOURHII.I.'s AnVEXTURES ; El.LEN
AND George; The Journal, by
Priscilla Wakefield ; The Bunch
OF Cherries ; The Life and Ad-
ventures OF Lady Anne; Captain
Murderer, by Charles Dickens,
and many other favourite old
stories, now forgotten.
' Is Mr. E. V. Lucas f/ohi(/ to
provide us loith one of the prettiest
books of each Christmas season ?
For successive years we have been
delighted with his clever selection
front the child-fiction of our grand-
parents, and we are left like Oliver
Twist, askinp for more.'' — Bookman.
fehe cut lier beautiful hair clost to
her head I —p. Iir2.
Large crown 8vo. p7^infed on superfine paper, cloth hoards.
170-32
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